En Passant
by Ruinous Crow
Summary: An accident in sixth year strands Harry in 1942 and a split second decision leaves him in an intrigue-ridden Slytherin. Lies and secrets shroud the board. Wizard's chess has never been Harry's best game, and the path to the black king is covered with thorns. Become 'friends' with Tom Riddle? If only it were so easy.
1. Ripples and Butterflies

En Passant

_Chess. a method by which a pawn that is moved two squares can be captured by an opponent's pawn commanding the square that was passed._

* * *

><p>"You're kidding me," Harry said incredulously as they made their way down the hallway of Hogwarts, "Seamus really did that?"<p>

"I know, right?" Ron was grinning from ear to ear. "It's nice to know that sometimes other people do crazy things too and it's not just us."

Harry shook his head, unable to believe that Seamus Finnigan had dared to do something of that magnitude. His friendship with the other had been forever splintered after their fifth year, but he no longer felt as if he were about to erupt in anger every time someone mentioned the wizard.

No, Harry thought uncomfortably, that reaction had moved on to Dean and his very public displays of affection with Ron's sister.

"I wanna ask him about it," Ron complained. Annoyance flashed across his features as clear as the torchlight illuminating their passage. "I can't believe we're stuck making the rounds for Hermione's homework on Halloween."

"We volunteered." Harry pointed out. Hermione had fallen ill just a few days ago. When they'd gone to visit her in the hospital wing she'd begged for them to get her any missed work after they'd finished up with their classes. They hadn't been able to refuse.

"Then, I can't believe Hermione still wants to do schoolwork when she's too sick to even attend class," Ron amended with a roll of his eyes.

"Really?" Harry asked with a grin. "Because that's exactly what I expected Hermione to want to do."

"Well okay," Ron conceded. "_Hermione_ would do that. But my point is, nobody else would!"

Despite Ron's fears, they arrived at the office of Professor Babbling in no time at all. The door was slightly open. Harry knocked. The astonishing force of his blow pushed the door open entirely. It creaked ominously.

Inside was an assortment of Halloween decorations, from lighted skulls to glowing slime. A single desk was up against the back of the room, with two chairs covered in cobwebs pushed against it. On the floor at the centre of the room was an engraved circle of some sort, which looked like it had been copied straight from a grimoire. A flash of grey fur disappeared behind a skeletal book holder, and Harry could have sworn he heard a titter.

The two Gryffindors glanced at each other.

"Do we go in, you reckon?" Ron asked hesitantly. "Wait inside for the prof to show up?"

"They might be somewhere else," Harry said doubtfully. "Hermione will just have to make do without her Ancient Runes this week, I guess."

"No," Ron said with a shake of his head. "Let's wait a bit—no harm right? It's not like the Halloween Feast is going to start yet, so we have until then. I mean we did promise Hermione."

Harry hid a smile. For someone who protested so strongly about missing the pre Hallow's Eve excitement, Ron was surprisingly adamant about waiting for three hours in what basically constituted as a classroom just to fulfill a promise.

They didn't sit on the chairs.

"Blimey, look at this thing," Ron said as he poked one of the beast skulls protruding from the walls. "What do you even suppose this is?"

Harry turned around. He had been examining the spooky paintings behind the desk and it left him with an uncomfortable feeling.

"Ron, maybe you shouldn't touch—" he began, just as Ron stuck his hand in the mouth to prod at the slime covered teeth.

The mouth snapped shut.

"Bloody hell!" Ron howled. He lurched away from the wall but the animal skull did not let go. Its eyes glinted as it held onto its prey.

Harry dashed towards Ron, scanning the room for something—anything—that would help. His eyes alighted on what looked to be a letter opener. He pitched towards it and closed his hand around the blade, uncaring as it tore a line across his palm.

He jammed the blade into the thing's forehead. It opened its jaw in a soundless cry but the slime in its mouth did not allow Ron to pull free. Ron turned wild blue eyes to Harry.

"This is why you don't touch things you've never seen before," Harry said through gritted teeth as he wrapped his hands around Ron's arm to help pull. He had a foot against the wall, using his knee as leverage as the two of them gave the greatest yank they could.

They both went tumbling backwards. Harry skidded across the floor. Ron crashed loudly onto the desk.

"Ow!" Harry hissed.

"Thanks mate," Ron said shakily as he sat up. There were cobwebs hanging off his shoulders. "Never underestimating slime again. Are you alright?"

Harry exhaled. Other people might do crazy things, Harry thought with a roll of his eyes, but they were still the only ones who seem to do it on a daily basis.

"I'm as alright as I'll ever be."

He started to his feet, only to stagger and fall down again, knees weak. Confused, he looked at Ron, whose blue eyes were going wider by the second.

"Oh bugger," Ron breathed, pointing directly below Harry. "Is it supposed to be doing that?"

Harry looked down. He'd landed on the edge of the engraved circle. A part of it was covered up, concealed by the smear of Harry's blood from when he'd caught himself. The lines were faintly glowing.

Ron's face was pale as he lurched forward, "Harry! Get—"

—_out_, Harry finished in his mind as his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the floor.

* * *

><p>When he came to, the Professor Babbling's office had been stripped of its decorations and had resumed its normal carriage. With a groan, Harry pushed himself up, panting harshly as if he'd just been run through one of Angela's pre-game Quidditch practices. He quickly adjusted his glasses, which had come to hang askew from the fall.<p>

His body still felt unbearably weak, and it was only with great effort that he was able to remain even sitting. He still had no idea what was going on. The runic circle had disappeared along with the Halloween furnishings, leaving only the cool stone floor and a small touch of personality around the room. Even the desk and chairs were placed on different sides.

"Ron?" He croaked, wondering if it was possible that Halloween had just passed without him. But it didn't make any sense that his best friend wouldn't have taken him to the hospital wing, or that the Ancient Runes professor would have cleaned up while the Boy Who Lived was still lying unconscious in her office.

And it was just then that the office door opened. And it was just then that Harry realized it had been closed at all.

"Katrina," an oddly familiar voice called as a man in pinstriped robes stepped in, one hand closed around the brass doorknob while the other loosely held a worn leather-bound book to his chest, "I've finished with this volume, than you for lending it to—"

He paused.

Harry's jaw slackened.

"You," the younger Albus Dumbledore said lightly, "are decidedly not Ms. Vance."

For a moment Harry's mind stuttered, wondering if he was stuck in another memory or if Dumbledore was playing some kind of joke on him, but neither seemed to fit. Surreptitiously he glanced around, and sure enough, there was nobody else that the ginger haired professor could have been speaking to.

"S—sir?" Harry asked hesitantly, "Did you get a new hair dye?"

The Transfiguration teacher's eyes gleamed ever brighter. "Oh I certainly hope not. I've always found my natural colour quite dashing." His gaze skimmed along the surface of Harry's robes then, resting on the cursed scar for a moment longer than the rest as an expression of curiosity crossing his features. "Now it seems that you're one of my students, but I don't recall seeing you before."

"Wh—what?" Harry had known that it wasn't his Dumbledore. It was not only the hair that had changed, but the countenance. This one lacked the wrinkles and the sagely presence. But he had hoped. He slumped. "I see."

The twinkling only heightened as the Dumbledore's lips stretched into a broad smile. "Oh? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage then. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Harry shook his head. There was only one real explanation for it all, but even then it sounded crazy. What exactly had happened? How exactly had it happened? First he needed to confirm.

"First sir, could I see the newspaper?" Harry asked.

The faintest hint of curiosity on his face, Dumbledore did as the dark haired boy requested. With a wave of his wand a copy of the Daily Prophet appeared before Harry, falling softly onto his lap.

Harry scanned the headlines. It said something about the Howling Hedges. The date was July 31, 1942. He swallowed.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Oh I er—" Harry tried to think of a believable lie. An instant later he discounted it as rubbish. There was no conceivable way he could fool Dumbledore, and besides that, he had no reason to. If he was really in 1942, it was only the Headmaster who could help him out of this mess. He sighed. "I'm Harry Potter, and I think I've travelled to the past."

The ginger inclined his head inquisitively, "Indeed? And you are—forgive me, a transfer student who comes later in the year?"

"Uh, what?" Harry blinked in confusion. "No. I'm from 1996."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, "That's over fifty years."

Harry's breath caught at the look. He had seen enough like it by now to recognize it for what it was. His heart sank. "That isn't possible, is it? I mean er—magical theory doesn't allow for something like that. That's what you're going to say, isn't it?"

"No," Dumbledore apologized with a shake of his head. He looked genuinely sorry for Harry. "It does not. Time-turners take the user back twenty-four hours, and maybe even a week that I've heard. A month might be possible. Fifty-four years? It could not be done."

Harry opened his mouth to protest. But Dumbledore held up a hand, averting any argument. His voice was full of good cheer.

"Now Mr. Potter, I did not say I disbelieved you. I have checked you for glamour and have found none. You are by all appearances simply a confused sixteen year old and a Potter, the latter of which I know shouldn't be possible because Charlus had mentioned no siblings when he graduated. I admit it is a most curious case."

Harry's mouth snapped shut.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested as he gave the green eyed boy a kind look, "You should explain how it is you think that you came to be here."

Harry sagged in relief. This was the Dumbledore he had come to know. He had no idea what he would do if he were to be declared insane while stuck in the past. "Of course, sir."

By the time Harry was done, the Transfiguration professor appeared to be in deep thought.

"And do you remember," Dumbledore asked as he peered at Harry through his half rimmed glasses, "what the circle looked like?"

"Umm." Harry scratched his head. To be completely honest, he didn't really remember. He had caught only a glimpse and he didn't have a memory like Hermione's. He grimaced. "No sir, I'm sorry. But maybe we could use a pensive?"

The other wizard's gaze became more thoughtful if possible. "Now, that is not a solution most people would think of first."

Harry grinned helplessly, "They're on my mind. We've been using them for the past two months in our lessons—"

Dumbledore held up a hand, forestalling any continuation of the topic. "Please, do not give me any hints regarding the future. If this is all true, it'd be best for all of us if you told me nothing outside of what is necessary for me to understand how you came to be here."

"Oh—right, of course."

The ginger haired mage's eyes were strangely gentle as he rose from his desk, "Understand, it is not because I do not wish to hear. I simply think that no one should know their own destiny." His tone changed then, to something deliberately light, almost teasing. "But I would rather not cause the collapse of the universe accidentally by pushing it, would you? I haven't yet been able to savour all the different kinds of Bertie Bott's beans."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. They relocated to Dumbledore's office. The oddly dressed man explained that it would be unfortunate if Ms. Vance were to come back to her office in the middle of their discussion. Besides that, only Dumbledore and the Charms professor were in ownership of a pensive.

It was strange being in Dumbledore the Transfiguration Professor's office rather than Dumbledore the Headmaster's office. Harry had come used to the strange room past the gargoyle over the past few years. The ginger haired Dumbledore still held some of the artifacts the future one did, but he also appeared to take teaching very seriously, because his office did actually resemble an office this time.

Harry drew out the memory from when they began talking about Seamus. They watched the events unfold in near silence. Harry snuck a few glances at Dumbledore throughout the exchange, and the old wizard always appeared to be in deep thought.

"So do you recognize it?" Harry asked anxiously as soon as they were out. He fiddled with the edge of his robes.

"I do recognize the ritual circle," Dumbledore said softly. "But I had no idea it was—nobody thought it could ever work, understand. It felt a fantasy even to wizards."

Harry's grip on his robes tightened. "And what does that mean?"

"There is no doubt. You are indeed from the time period you say you are. That runic circle is an ancient magic which is said to transverse time, but it had never been shown to work. Every wizard who has tried to use it has come away disappointed, so it has been thought of as nothing more than an old decoration over the years. That is likely the reason your professor felt it safe to use for Halloween. How could she know that your blood would activate it? But it is strange, this work almost looks like…"

By the end of it, Dumbledore sounded as if he were speaking more to himself than to Harry. There was a strange, wistful tone to his voice that Harry had never heard before.

"Like what?" Harry pressed.

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry knew he had changed what he was about to say. "This work looks like it was not made to mean you harm. I cannot yet decipher what all the components mean, but I believe that you are safe."

Harry's jaw twitched at the dismissal, but this Dumbledore had not promised to be completely open to him. He sighed. In the end, it didn't matter. Only one thing mattered. "And? Can I be sent back?"

"Not right away," Dumbledore said with an apologetic little shrug. "It would require research. This circle has alterations from when I first saw it, and it has been a long time since I have given thought to this kind of work. It also remains very obscure. If I had not looked into such things because of—well, at any rate, it will take time."

Harry's stomach did its best impression of the Titanic, "So how long—how long do you think I'll be stuck here?"

"It depends on how long it will take me to figure it out I'm afraid," Dumbledore sighed. "But perhaps…" Dumbledore's voice was slow but it was gaining in strength, his eyes brightening as if he were warming up to the idea. "Perhaps you should take this predicament as an opportunity instead."

"What are you getting at?" Harry asked warily.

Sadness lurked behind Dumbledore's eyes. "You look as if you carry a great burden on your shoulders. Whatever is afflicting you in your time, assuredly it is not here? Think of this as your vacation. Do things you normally wouldn't." His expression turned jovial then. "You are still growing, and you are at an age of finding yourself, so do not be afraid to give other paths a try."

"I—wait you want me to—what, go traipsing the world while you figure this out?" Harry asked incredulously. "I can't do that!"

"Well perhaps not that," Dumbledore hummed. "The world has become a very dangerous in the past years, and I cannot send a student who is not fully equipped into it. What do you think of sampling Hogwarts as it was in the 1940s?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, "You want me to be a _student_?"

"You already are, are you not?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling. "Besides, I know better than to leave a teenager to boredom for an indefinite period of time."

Harry shook his head, "No I need to get back to my friends right away."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore replied with an expression of knowing something beyond the scope of the other party and taking vast enjoyment of it, "I believe you shall go back to your friends right away no matter how long you choose to stay here."

The look Harry shot his old (future?) Headmaster was one that was rapidly running out of its patience.

Dumbledore chuckled, "Time that passes here will not affect your time. When we figure this circle out, we can set the time at which you get back to be the exact moment that you left, so it will seem as if you had been there all along."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked in interest. It was not what Harry wanted, but it was all that he could ask for. He sighed, and nodded his consent. "It's true that I wouldn't know what to do with myself otherwise…" He hesitated. "But won't I be in danger of changing the future?"

"Anything that happens," Dumbledore said wisely, "is meant to happen."

It made sense, only—

"Wait," Harry said in confusion. "You said—you said you were worried about the collapse of the universe if I told you the future. But if I'm supposed to be here, how can that happen?"

Dumbledore's answering smile was infinitely sad, "Very astute, Mr. Potter. No, I'm not worried about you. I'm only concerned that I won't be able to live through the future quietly if I had prior knowledge of it. I'm afraid I can't trust myself as much as you seem to."

Understanding dawned and Harry could only nod sheepishly. If somebody had come from Harry's own future to tell him about the deaths of his friends, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from trying to save them even if it meant the collapse of the world. He believed Dumbledore to have enough willpower to restrain himself, but it would be cruel to put him in that kind of position.

They spent some more time discussing the details of what Dumbledore believed the runic circle to say, until Harry felt his eyes droop and a yawn escape his throat for the third time. Dumbledore smiled gently and suggested that they continue the talk the next day, which Harry held no reasonable disagreement for.

It did however bring up the issue of Harry's accommodations. Dumbledore meant to provide for Harry while the green eyed boy was in the past, even to foot the bill for school supplies, which Harry protested adamantly. He didn't know how he would pay himself—perhaps he would work a summer job—but he did not want to take anyone's money. Eventually they decided that Harry could pay back Dumbledore in the future, as it was obvious the two knew each other, thus giving Harry a carte blanche on how much he could spend on himself.

In the next few days they invented Harry's backstory, and Dumbledore sent a letter to the absent Headmaster requesting that they speak. Hogwarts was open to her teachers during the summer, but most of them had homes outside of the school. Harry had not realized how unusual it was for Dumbledore to be residing in the castle during the holidays until the moment Dumbledore told him there were only three of them. Perhaps it was because Harry was spending more time with Dumbledore and it made the wizen old man seem more human, but it was only now that he was wondering whether the ancient wizard had any family.

Dippet agreed to meet them in a week. Dumbledore cast a glamour to hide Harry's more obvious Potter features. At Harry's request, the lightning bolt scar was hidden too, and the shape of his glasses were changed to better distinguish his appearance. By the end of it Harry hardly recognized himself.

They met Dippet in the Headmaster's office. It was strange giving the password and entering through the stone gargoyle to a completely different room. Dumbledore had made the suite his own, as wild and as eccentric as he. In comparison, the office housing Armando Dippet seemed disproportionately plain.

"Albus," Dippet greeted from his place behind the a large mahogany desk. He looked as weak and frail as Harry remembered, and his bald head gleamed dully under the afternoon sun.

"Armando," Dumbledore smiled in reply. He gestured to Harry, who immediately stepped forward to make himself noticed. "This is Mr. Petersburg, of whom I spoke of in my letter."

"The son of your friend, hmm, yes." Dippet's attention turned to Harry then, a look of pity in his eyes, "Deeply sorry about your parents."

They had decided to use a real event to corroborate Harry's missing history. Four months ago a real Petersburg family had existed. The line was an established if minor German one, but then at age twenty the heiress had decided to marry a muggle. It had been enough of a scandal to cause the Petersburgs to withdraw from pureblood society.

Four months ago, the followers of Gellert Grindelwald had burned the Petersburg home to the ground to set an example. There had been no survivors. Or at least that was what had been reported. Harry was reluctantly impressed with how well Dumbledore was at spinning a tale.

"I'm sorry too," Harry answered stiffly. He was supposedly Dagmar Petersburg, the fifteen year old son who had managed to escape by the force of his mother. His mother was good at charms, and had faked his death so that he could flee across Europe to England, where her old friend Dumbledore could offer him asylum. The trek had apparently taken until yesterday afternoon. "Sir, I thank you for allowing me to use Hogwarts—"

"Oh nonsense, nonsense," Dippet replied, waving a hand as if Harry's arrangements didn't bother him. But Harry saw the glint of unease in his eyes. "You've been through a lot, dear boy, and of course we would offer you Hogwarts' protection. You are welcome to stay until you've sorted your business out."

"Actually," Dumbledore cut in smoothly, "I was hoping that Mr. Petersburg here might enrol in Hogwarts. It is unsafe for him to return to Durmstrang, but he has not yet completed his schooling."

Dippet flushed a bright red. "Ah—yes, of course. Every young man needs a good education. Of course young Dagmar should attend Hogwarts!"

Harry met Dumbledore's gaze. The professor gave the smallest fraction of a nod.

"I—" Harry started hesitantly, catching Dippet's attention. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. It had been a while since he'd done this kind of deception, but he didn't want to make Dumbledore do all the work. "I don't want to impose. If I just show up at Hogwarts—even though I'm supposed to be dead—I'm scared of how Grindelwald's followers. Mum told me that my greatest defence was my anonymity now, but if I lost that—well, I don't want to get your school caught up in the crossfire, sir."

Dippet's eyes widened. He shifted, as if the possibility of acquiring the Germans' wraith only occurred to him now. "Oh. Um—"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said softly, "you do not need to lose your anonymity completely, Mr. Petersburg."

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired in confusion, as if they hadn't planned this from the beginning.

"I doubt anyone is looking at Hogwarts too closely," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Indeed, so long as a presumed dead pureblood heir does not show up in the registrar, there is no reason for someone to take undue interest in a single student."

"A false name," Dippet muttered. "Yes yes, of course! Yes, that would work. We'd need to establish some kind of backstory as well, of course, but you are right, it needn't be too detailed. Who is going to check, after all?"

Harry just barely restrained his smile of bemusement. Armando Dippet did not know the half of it. While the second backstory did accomplish those things, it also allowed Harry a lot of leeway were he to slip up in his act. Presumably anyone who figured out something was strange about him would discover his 'secret' of begin Dagmar Petersburg, and their investigations would have no reason to continue. Dumbledore truly had thought of everything.

"I cannot ask so much," Harry said with a shake of his head.

"Nonsense, nonsense!" Dippet waved a hand dismissively, a bright smile on his features. "It is the least we could do, and it will not be difficult at all! You shall be… ah, what name does young Dagmar wish?"

Harry was silent for a moment, as if contemplating Dippet's sacrifice. Finally he sighed. "Thank you, Headmaster. If I must have another name, may I be Harry Evans, sir?"

The look that Dumbledore gave him was fondly exasperated. Harry returned a sheepish smile. He knew exactly what Dumbledore would say. He was allowing the future Headmaster too many hints to who he would be. But if Harry had to go by any alias, he wanted to go by his mother's.

"Ah?" Dippet's eyebrows crinkled, "That's a rather… common… name."

"I don't wish to stand out, sir." It was becoming increasingly hard to remember to keep calling Dippet 'sir'.

"Ah, yes, yes, of course. Do forgive me, I was not insinuating anything about you. Why, one of my best students has the most common name known to man. 'Tom' his name is, but he's anything but common. Quite a wonderful lad, that chap."

Harry sat up straight. _Tom_. The name rang in his head. There was only one person whom Dippet could be talking about.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed to Harry's, but the ginger haired man didn't make any comment.

Harry took a shaky breath. He didn't think—was Tom Riddle still in school at this time? He should have checked. He'd been so caught up in what the time displacement meant for him that he hadn't even _considered_—

"He'll be in his fifth year just like you," Dippet continued obliviously, "Now it's really lads like him that give Slytherins their great name. I have to admit I was wary of Slytherins at first— they did pick on me quite a bit in my youth I'm afraid— but Tom has been… ah, he has helped greatly in seeing that the Slytherins are just like any other house, really."

Harry's mouth was dry, his mind racing with all the implications. This was the reason why the date had been nagging at him. He had accidentally come back to a time when _Tom Riddle was still in Hogwarts_.

"Slytherin, sir?" He croaked out, because he did not want the man to realize that he had gone silent.

Dippet blinked, then his eyes widened, "Oh right! You do not know of the four houses of Hogwarts, do you? Well…"

Dippet quickly gave an explanation that Harry half paid attention to. After all, he knew it already.

"And talking about houses," Dippet finished off, a thoughtful frown on his face, "I suppose we need to get you sorted into one, don't we? Well, well, where's the sorting hat?"

Muttering to himself, Dippet looked to his left, where the sorting hat was indeed sitting. Nodding to himself, Dippet took the hat and handed it to Harry, who shakily put it on his head.

The sorting hat did not read minds, Harry had learned that much from both Hermione and Dumbledore. Instead, Gryffindor had charmed it such a way that it could see the different colours that represented personalities within a person, and sorted due to that. Harry's secret was safe from it.

"Well, well," The sorting hat said as soon as it descended over Harry's hair, "What have we got here? Not quite a first year, now are we? But I suppose I'm not here for that… Quite a sharp mind, loyalty and hardwork in the spades. Ooh! My, there's a lot of cunning, and quite a bit of untapped potential for… well, it doesn't really matter I suppose? Your courage and chivalry outshines all…"

Harry closed his eyes. He wanted, more than anything, to trudge back to the rooms of red and gold. He'd be able to endure this situation there, perhaps even enjoy it. He could imagine it now. Surrounded by comfortable laughter, chatting with genuine friends, a chance to be _normal_—

He wanted it so badly that it physically hurt.

But he had never been normal; not since he had first understood that 'freak' was not his name, not since he had learned of the prophecy. And he could not pass up this opportunity.

_Slytherin,_ Harry thought to the hat, _Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin!_

It wasn't lost on him the irony of his thoughts. It was just five years prior he had willed with all his heart for anywhere _but_ Slytherin.

"Slytherin? Are you sure? Well, it will certainly help you on your way to greatness, but I wonder if your morals will be able to stay intact. Ah well, it is your choice. If you are sure, then… SLYTHERIN!"

Harry took off the hat with a sigh, meeting Dumbledore's surprise and Dippet's pleased expression.

"Slytherin," Dippet murmured, "Just like dear Tom. He's being made Prefect this year—perhaps he can guide you. Yes, you'll be sure to like him."

"Actually," Dumbledore cut in gently, "I was thinking that sixth year might—"

"Thank you for looking out for me, professor," Harry interrupted, smiling insincerely. "But you don't need to lobby for me to be put a grade ahead in Defence Against Dark Arts because of Durmstrang's curriculum. It'd be unfair to the other students."

"Oh! Right! How thoughtful of you Mr. Evans. Yes of course."

They talked some more, mostly ironing out Harry's schooling details; it was finally suggested that Harry pretend to be a transfer student from St. Clarence Academy. The Headmaster promised he'd handle the paperwork himself.

After what seemed like days, though it really only was three hours, Dippet finally released them.

"Something changed your mind," Dumbledore said softly after they were out of ear shot. The professor had asked Harry's year level in order to determine how best to continue his actual education. The plan had been to let Dagmar Petersburg skip a grade on account of his excellence in Durmstrang.

Harry shrugged, "Well I thought about it. If I go back to the exact moment that I left my time, I'll still have to complete sixth year then. And I'd rather do that with my friends with no advantages."

"Hmm." Dumbledore's gaze was shrewd. "And yet. This change seemed to have occurred directly after Armando made mention of Tom Riddle."

Harry stiffened. "Professor, I thought you did not wish to know of the future."

Dumbledore's lips parted in surprise. And then, he smiled and bowed his head. "Yes, you are correct. That was remiss of me. My apologies."

That only caused the green eyed boy to duck his head and fidget helplessly. He did not want Dumbledore to apologize. Especially, he wanted Dumbledore's advice, but the ginger haired man would not give it.

"You told me," Harry said softly, very softly. "That this could be seen as a chance to be something that I normally wasn't. Nothing I do in this time has to—I mean I'll be back to normal in my own time, right?"

Dumbledore's gaze was wary. "Yes—perhaps. But my boy, when I said that I simply meant—"

"I know what you meant," Harry smiled sheepishly. He was grateful for Dumbledore looking out for him in any timeline. He also, as Hermione had so eloquently put it, had a hero complex. However he could not let Dumbledore know about that, because he knew about the professor's suspicions regarding Riddle and he thought it best not to confirm them outright. "I was almost sorted into Slytherin in my first year and I've always wondered what it'd be like if I stayed." He had a number of nightmares in his second year in particular. "So now I guess I have the chance to find out, huh?"

Dumbledore did not look wholly convinced, but he nodded anyhow in bottomless understanding. Harry was thankful.

His Dumbledore—the old one—had wanted Harry to understand the life of Tom Riddle. Harry still did not know how that would help, but he trusted the ancient Headmaster and he needed any advantage he could gain over Voldemort. He was determined to at least give it a try.


	2. The Difference Between Red and Green

A/n: The little bit about German is not exactly relevant unless I decide to do certain things in the future, but I wanted to tell you guys that yes, anyone can learn a language and learning the language actually does get more fun when you can kind of understand it. Harry getting to intermediate level German in a month might seem a bit fast but since you can get to intermediate level Latin in two months (in the form of torturous summer courses), I'm sure it's not impossible. It just requires a lot of motivation and free time. So I don't know, if you were thinking of learning a language but then despairing that you aren't good enough at that sort of thing, let me assure you that you are. Seriously, it's not as hard as it sounds.

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><p>Harry sat on the plush cushioning of the Hogwarts Express, reading a simple German novel. He allowed the babble of Platform nine and three quarters as parents and children said their goodbyes to wash over him, the background noise helping to calm him.<p>

After Dippet had approved of Harry's status, he'd been allowed to remain with Dumbledore until the start of the term. Afterwards he was meant to find accommodations, but Harry figured they'd figure out the ritual circle before then. For now, a month long stay with a teacher in Hogwarts due to the fact he had no guardian was acceptable to Dippet.

During the month, Dumbledore had suggested to Harry to learn German. While not required, Dumbledore had thought that it would be helpful, and he did not believe that Harry was incapable of learning it. After some thought about how he was going to be sharing sleeping quarters with the future Lord Voldemort, Harry agreed that it was a good idea. Magic made studying easier, as did the fact that of all the languages, it was German that English shared the most traits with.

He did not have to be able to speak it, as he could always find a way to refuse the request, but he had to at least be passible in reading and writing in order to throw off suspicion. It was a small price to pay and even enjoyable, especially with Dumbledore as a professor. Harry had only known him as a Headmaster and as the lessons progressed, he thought it was a shame.

It helped that there was little to do in Hogwarts during the summer, although it was infinitely better than the Dursleys. However the only company present was three other teachers, the house elves, and the ghosts. He didn't even have summer homework to entertain him. He could not go flying on account of having no broom and having the ones of Hogwarts restricted from use during the holidays.

Strangely enough, the better he got at the foreign language, the more he seemed to like it. He still occasionally struggled with the more complex grammar, but he was at the point where he could mostly determine the correct meaning of a block of text. Bemusedly, he had to wonder if that was the reason Hermione was so keen on learning and testing herself.

The train began to move. He heard, distantly, the sound of pounding feet and shutting doors as people scrambled for a compartment. Finally the door to his own compartment slid open, revealing a boy with blond hair and wicked brown eyes. Three other boys were peering in behind him.

"Oh hullo," the light haired boy said, "Mind if we sit here? Nowhere else has enough room for the four of us."

Harry closed his book; he liked the novel but he wasn't so keen on studying that he'd ignore a greeting. Distraction was always welcome. He grinned, "Well, it's not my train, is it?"

The blond laughed, striding in and holding out a hand for Harry to shake, "I like you, I'm Jeremy Prewett."

Harry's brows wrinkled. Prewett sounded familiar to him but he could not remember from where he had heard it. Inwardly he shrugged. Oh well.

"Harry Evans," The green eyed boy said, shaking Jeremy's hand firmly.

"Evans… I've never heard that name before," One of the three boys from behind said, also stepping in.

Harry eyed the one who had spoken. He was dirty blond, rather than Jeremy's ash, but was much taller and walked with a bit of a strut. It looked like pureblood rearing. If these were the Slytherins, then Harry had to act like he at least cared a little about blood supremacy. However, he needed Riddle's interest more. "I'm half blood."

The dirty blond blinked, then flushed, "Oh, that's not what I meant. I mean… I've never heard of an Evans at Hogwarts before. I don't care about that blood stuff. It's all rubbish. Brandon—" Here, he jerked his thumb towards the last two boys, who were busy stashing away their trunks in the compartment, "—is a half blood too, and Chris is muggleborn."

They were not Slytherins, then.

Harry allowed himself to relax, "Oh. I'm a transfer student."

"Transfer?" One of the other boys –a brown haired one- perked up, having finished putting away his things. Harry wasn't sure if he was Brandon or Chris. "I never knew Hogwarts students accepted transfers."

"They don't, I don't think." The last one, the black haired one, answered, also having finished with his trunk and taking a seat across from Harry. He peered at Harry intensely, making the green eyed boy slightly uncomfortable. Harry hoped he didn't show it.

Jeremy grinned and plopped down beside Harry, eyeing him mischievously, "My, my, we've got a mystery on our hands."

Finally, the black haired one took his unnerving blue eyes off Harry, and instead rolled them at Jeremy, "If this is a 'mystery', it'll only last until Dippet's speech. Oh right, I've to go to a prefect's meeting."

Jeremy pouted, "Aw Brandon, you spoil everything. Well, bye!"

So it was Brandon, then. Harry had a feeling he'd have to keep an eye on him. Or at least, avoid him when possible.

Brandon stood up, waved, and left the compartment to the various goodbyes and 'see ya laters' of the occupants. The boy with dirty blond hair took his seat.

The brown haired boy, whom Harry now determined was Chris, sat down beside the dirty blond and gave a lopsided smile to Jeremy, "But you know he's right. Headmaster Dippet's sure to announce any interesting news, and a transfer student's definitely interesting news. Say, what house are you in?"

Harry considered for a moment. He didn't want to tell them so early, for he had a feeling it'd stilt any further conversation, so instead Harry decided to play the ignorant transfer student. "Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask. What's with this house stuff anyway? My old school didn't have it, and I don't really get what the big deal is."

"You don't get it?!" Jeremy gasped, putting his hands to his heart in mock horror, "Oh you poor poor deprived child. House differences are as different as night and day!"

"Yes," The dirty blond whom Harry had yet to get the name of answered sourly, "Slytherins are gits who only care about themselves, Hufflepuffs are loyal but like sheep, Ravenclaws are smartasses, and the only house really worth it is Gryffindor."

Harry felt his eyebrow twitch despite himself; he loved Gryffindor, but he wouldn't go as far as to say it was the only house worth it. Heck, their real Hogwarts champion during the Triwizard Tournament had been a Hufflepuff! Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but someone already beat him to it.

"Oh stop being such a prejudiced git, Silas." Jeremy said with a roll of his eyes, then smiled apologetically at Harry, "Don't mind him, he's awfully close minded at times. We're not all that dense; in fact there's not a lot of difference between houses."

'Silas' snorted, but didn't continue on.

"Gryffindors are known for their courage," Chris said helpfully, his wide innocent eyes reminding Harry awfully of Hermione, "Ravenclaws for their intelligence, Hufflepuffs for their loyalty, and Slytherins for their cunning. But that doesn't mean a Hufflepuff can't be smart, a Slytherin can't be brave, or a Gryffindor can't be cunning. The purpose of the houses is just to put people with similar interests and values together, to increase your chances of making livelong friends."

Harry blinked, rather amazed. That was… different. During Harry's years at Hogwarts, the differences between the houses couldn't be more pronounced. People like Silas were common. Here, it seemed that Silas was the odd one out. Had Voldemort's reign changed the view of Slytherin that much?

"Since when where you guys such pretenders?" Silas sneered, "You guys dislike Slytherins as much as I do. It's only because of Tom Bloody Riddle you can even tolerate them."

Harry's interested perked. Tom Riddle? And from the sounds of it, Voldemort even had this much influence over Gryffindors.

"For the last time, will you give it up on Tom?" Jeremy asked with a roll of his eyes, "He's a nice guy, alright?"

"Yeah!" Chris cut in, "He helped me with that charms essay once, remember? I didn't even ask for it, and I got an O on that essay!"

"You'd get an O anyway," Silas muttered.

"That was different! It was really hard!" Chris glared heatedly at Silas, but then seemed to realize something, "Oh, Harry! Sorry, you must have no idea what we're talking about."

He couldn't quite help the wry smile which curled across his lips. It was an ironic turn of phrase Chris used. Out of all of them, Harry probably had the most idea. Tom the bloody charmer had struck again, except… expect Silas didn't seem be under Tom's illusion. Though that might be just prejudice talking, and Silas may very well turn away from Harry once he found out that the green eyed boy was a Slytherin, Harry couldn't help but wonder if he'd found a tentative ally.

"No problem," Harry said, wondering if he'd taken too long to reply, "I must be a bother here anyway—" Everyone protested to this, even Silas, but Harry barged on, "—but now I'm curious; who is this Tom Riddle?"

"A bloody manipulator," Silas said immediately.

It was again, Chris who answered the question without bias, "He's the most intelligent student of our year, probably of the whole school too. All the teachers love him, but he isn't stuck up like. He's real nice to other students too. And he's really funny. Yeah, he's good at manipulating, but he's a Slytherin and you expect that. He's most likely to be the Minster of Magic when he grows up."

"And he's handsome too," Jeremy said with a longing sigh, receiving alarmed glances from the other occupants of the compartment. Jeremy blinked, then threw up his hands, "Ugh, not like that guys! I meant, he's got everything! Looks, brains, and charms. What I would give…"

"So," Harry decided not to pay attention to Jeremy, who was reminding him awfully of the Weasley twins. "What do you think of Tom Riddle, Silas?"

Silas sneered at first, but then a contemplative expression settled on his face, as if he were really thinking about the question instead of just reacting to it. "I guess… I guess everything Chris said is true, but he's really downplaying the manipulative part. I'm a pureblood and I was reared to catch expression and the correct responses to them. But even I can't tell when Riddle's being sincere or not. Most others just think he's being sincere all the time, but I don't trust it. If Riddle was sorted into Slytherin, at heart he can't be that guileless. Actually, Jeremy should know be able to tell too, but his family's always been less strict with etiquette than ours."

Jeremy snorted, then gave a wink to Harry, "Yep, the Diggorys are old prudes; they think everyone's against them."

Silas glared at the red haired boy, but Harry hardly noticed. Harry could hardly move, eyes wide at Jeremy's words. An old feeling of disgusted guilt flooded through him, making it hard to breath. Di-Di-Diggory?

"Hey," Chris looked at Harry worriedly, "Are you alright?"

Harry blinked, and shook himself out of his stupor. He wasn't at his Hogwarts anymore, and this wasn't Cedric Diggory whom he was sitting with. He couldn't afford to act suspiciously, even if it was he who had effectively killed Silas's heir. Harry opened his mouth—

And was effectively interrupted by the trolley lady as she shoved open their compartment door and offered them various candies with a toothy grin. Harry quickly recovered and bought his favourites, while Jeremy, Silas, and Chris also chimed in with what they wanted. After the trolley lady left, everyone seemed to have forgotten Harry's episode.

…or maybe not. Silas was still shooting Harry suspicious glances, but even those became subdued as time passed. It wasn't until later that Harry realized that his reaction to Silas's name had probably never left the Gryffindors' minds, but they had simply let it go when they saw his normal behaviour afterwards.

At some point Brandon came back, and they got into a huge debate over the merits of Blood Lollies and would they really keep off a vampire? Jeremy had some crazy theories about the real ways to escape from a vampire— or more accurately, seduce them so that they won't want to kill you. Brandon surprisingly went along with Jeremy, though he actually tried to use some semblance of logic. Chris objected good-naturedly with studies that none of them had ever heard about before, and Silas simply snorted and acted bored, though everyone could tell he wasn't really. Harry found himself relaxing despite himself.

So easy to act the Gryffindor. For a moment he felt regret at his choice, because he could see himself easily spending the year with these four. He doubted it would be like this in Slytherin.

When the speakers overhead announced that they were nearing Hogwarts, Harry was actually disappointed that the train ride was nearly over. He sighed, and got to changing his robes.

"Oh," Jeremy said in surprise when he saw the crest on Harry's robes, "You're a Slytherin?"

"Yes," Harry said dryly in jest, "I realize now that it might not be such a good thing."

Jeremy quickly shook his head, "Hey no worries man, I don't care about that. Neither does Chris nor Brian. And Silas…"

Silas was turning red. He raised one, accusing finger at Harry, "You— you're— all this time you made us think— you slimy Slytherin!"

"Slimy Slytherin?" Jeremy said sarcastically, "Really Silas? Really?"

Silas glared at him, brown eyes hard. He snarled, and threw the compartment door open. Giving Harry one last loathing look, Silas turned to leave, "I'm not sharing compartments with a deceiving snake. See you at the feast."

With that, the blond slammed the door shut, leaving the room silent.

"Well," Jeremy said cheerfully, "That went well."

"Yeah," Harry said tonelessly. He had prepared himself for that kind of reaction, and after Second Year, after Fifth Year, after Seamus, after _Ron_, he thought he'd be used to it. It turned out he wasn't.

Brandon sighed, shaking his head. He looked to Harry, his face apologetic, "Don't worry about Silas, he's just being an idiot. Though Jeremy didn't make it any better. Silas was coming to like you, I think, and he feels betrayed that you're in Slytherin. I think he was secretly hoping that you'd be a Gryffindor like us, though now that I think about it, it's obvious that you aren't. Otherwise, why _wouldn't_ you mention your house?"

Harry stared at the other boy, wondering what part of that was supposed to make him feel better.

"I think what Brandon's trying to say," Chris interjected, "is that Silas will come around. He's just afraid that the Slytherins will make you hate us."

"I think he also might be afraid that you're turning us against him," Brian mused, "It didn't really matter when it seemed like you'd become part of our group anyway, but now… and Jeremy's comments certainly didn't help matters. Well, it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" Harry questioned, "He's your friend. Aren't you guys… worried about him?"

Jeremy shot him a surprised look, then grinned, "Who, Silas? Nah, he can take care of himself. He's really hot-headed though. We're just waiting for him to cool down."

Harry nodded, accepting what Jeremy said at face value. They were not his friends after all, and he couldn't hope to understand their group dynamics. For all he knew, it might be like a situation with Ron and Hermione, minus the underlying hormones.

The train finally came to a stop, and the students scrambled onto the carriages. The thresals acknowledge him, but Harry ignored them, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Thankfully, no one else could really see the invisible horses, so no one called him out on it.

When they finally got to Hogwarts, Harry parted with the Gryffindors, feeling a stab of loneliness as he did so. No more could he enjoy the easy company and lax manner of the House of Courage. Now he'd have to enter a place where subtly meant everything, and relaxing meant death.

Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating a little, but with Riddle there, who really knew? Harry recalled that Riddle had willingly opened the Chamber of Secrets, and while there had been no fatalities outside of Myrtle, it did show that Riddle wasn't afraid to use dark magic.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered if he was truly prepared to live with the charismatic sociopath. But there were little downsides. Voldemort was already out to kill him so he didn't really have to worry about incurring Riddle's wrath if he made a mistake, and no long term consequence could touch him.

Following a few other students, Harry took a seat at the Slytherin table, watching as the chattering teenagers filed in; giggling girls exchanging summer news of new beaus and new trends, smirking boys with darting glances, and friends shouting greetings to friends from other houses. A few older years spared a curious glance in Harry's direction, but then seemed to shrug it off, probably thinking that Harry was simply a year above or below them.

His fingers tapping out a staccato beat across the table, he leant back and turned his attention to the staff stand instead.

There were many faces Harry didn't recognize, but the biggest difference of all was that instead of Dumbledore sitting in the high-backed golden chair at the centre, it was the feeble figure of Armando Dippet. Harry wondered if he'd ever get used to it.

Just then, all eyes shifted to the Entrance Doors. Well, all of the staff's eyes anyways. Harry's head followed, knowing that there could only be one reason why the staff had stopped chatting and turned their complete attention to the doors. The first years had arrived.

Dumbledore led the terrified looking eleven year olds in, his blue eyes twinkling bemusedly. Harry had to wonder what horror stories Dumbledore had been encouraging among them. Dumbledore would never _outright_ do mischief, but he was very good at suddenly becoming quite fascinated in the surrounding plants when mischief was being done.

Dumbledore reached into his pockets, throwing what seemed to be a piece of flint onto the centre of the room. Then, he raised his wand, and murmured something under his breath. Quite suddenly, the piece of flint started to morph, until it grew into a tweedy looking stool.

The first years gasped as one, and Harry found himself gasping with them. What Dumbledore had done was no easy piece of magic, and though Harry intellectually knew what Dumbledore was capable of, seeing it a whole other matter.

"Show-off," A Slytherin next to him muttered, but there was no resentment in his voice.

Then, the sorting commenced.

There was no one of notable interest to Harry, but whenever someone was sorted into Slytherin he clapped among the rest of them just so that he wouldn't stand out. Finally, the sorting was over, and Dippet was standing to make an announcement.

"My dear students," Dippet said with a somewhat strained smile, "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Now, just before we start the feast, there are some announcements I'd like to make.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. If you experience any trouble, please defer to a teacher or a prefect. Older students should help out too. I have also been asked by Mr. Dixon, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Knight. And finally, we are blessed with a new student in our midst, the first transfer student that Hogwarts has had in over a hundred years…"

There was an instant murmuring among the students, surreptitious glances and exaggerated guesses of what Dippet could possibly mean.

"Students! STUDENTS!" Dippet yelled, causing the murmuring to die down as the population of Hogwarts realized that Dippet would be the one who would give them answers. When the children finally quieted, Dippet cleared his throat, looking quite displeased. Harry couldn't help but think of how well Dumbledore had managed to handle them all.

"As I was saying," Dippet said stiffly, "We have a transfer student from St. Clarence Academy of Magic. His name is Harry Evans, and he is in fifth year. He has already been sorted. Please, make him feel welcome and show exactly how hospitable a school Hogwarts really is. Thank you, now you may eat."

As Dippet sat, food appeared out of nowhere, filling the five long tables, but no one was really paying attention to the food. Everyone was too busy speculating. Whispers were filling the hall, spreading like wildfire. Why was there suddenly a transfer student if Hogwarts had not had one for 100 years? Who could it be? Was it a prodigy that Hogwarts had finally gotten its hands on? A war refugee? The secret love child of one of the professors?

At the Slytherin table though, most seemed to have guessed at least _who_ it was, if the wary glances cast in Harry's direction were any indication. Harry wanted to call them to just ask already, but he had a feeling that an act of bravery wouldn't exactly endear him to his Housemates like it might in Gryffindor.

So instead, Harry just went about calmly eating his food, making sure to use the table manners Hermione had drilled into him. Finally, one of the students cracked.

"So are you?" A blond boy sitting next to him asked, his voice coming out a low grumble, "Are you the new transfer student?"

Another boy –this one with silver hair- rolled his eyes, "Way to go Avery, could you get any more blunt? What are we, Gryffindors? Besides, isn't your father the records keeper, so shouldn't you of all people know?"

Harry felt a shiver race up his spine, barely suppressed. The future Avery had been one of the Death Eaters revealed at the Department of Mysteries. Yet, Harry could do nothing about it.

"Now, now," A smooth, silkily voice interrupted, causing Harry to draw a sharp breath, "Don't be so critical, Yaxley. Avery was only asking what we all wanted to know."

If Harry got shivers before, he was practically breaking out in goosebumps now. Wide-eyed, Harry turned towards the source of the voice, and found the owner to be just sitting across from him, three seats away.

Tom Riddle was watching them with a smirk on his lips, though the look in his eyes made it seem more as if he were watching amusing animals rather than human beings.

Harry was surprised by the utter lack of anger and hate at the sight of him. Tom Riddle was not yet Voldemort, but he had committed horrible deeds even in this form. He could never be forgiven for what he did to Ginny.

Harry frowned thoughtfully, wondering if it was possible that the apprehensive question his Dumbledore asked at the beginning of their last session held merit. Dumbledore had warned Harry not to feel sympathy for the young Voldemort, and Harry had replied that he didn't, but that hadn't been quite true, had it? No, he did not hate Tom Riddle—he just wanted to stop him.

Then, as if he could feel Harry's gaze, Riddle's eyes suddenly flashed towards his. Harry quickly blanked his face. But, he wasn't sure if he blanked quickly enough. Had Riddle seen his uncertainty, the fear, the refusal to be fooled? Harry couldn't tell from just looking at the other boy.

Yaxley also turned towards the future dark lord, and quickly bowed his head. His earlier sarcastic tone was gone, replaced by a sort of reverence and compliance, "Of course. I was out of line. Avery, I apologize."

But Yaxley had not once looked at Avery during this 'apology'. Harry held back from a shudder. Already, Tom Riddle had a following.

"So," A smooth voice cut in, and Harry turned just in time to see a dark haired boy sliding to a seat next to him. It was odd, because Harry could have sworn that seat was already taken. And then he realized he was right, the seat was taken; the dark haired boy had simply forced the previous occupant to move.

"So," The dark haired wizard continued, a sly smile on his lips and blue eyes glittering with amusement, "You gonna answer what we all want to know?"

Harry hesitated, ever so slightly, "And what would that be?"

"What made you change schools," A brown haired boy sitting not too far from him said crisply, "Or more acutely, why Hogwarts accepted you."

It was a good thing Harry had already prepared these answers in advance. "Well, I've always wanted to come to Hogwarts; it is the most prestigious school in Britain after all. However, my family… did not have enough finances to pay Hogwarts' high tuition fee. Recently though, my mother earned enough to send me here, so we decided to change schools. I'm not too sure myself why the Headmaster allowed it, although I'm thankful to him for it. I didn't know that Hogwarts hadn't accepted a transfer in over a hundred years. My mum just came in with me to see Headmaster Dippet and they talked. Headmaster Dippet is a very sympathetic man; he was especially kind to mother when he found out my father passed away recently. Perhaps that is why? Headmaster Dippet can sympathize with our situation?"

There were varying looks of shock present on nearly all the faces surrounding him. They clearly hadn't expected that as an explanation.

Actually, at Harry's easy answer, many Slytherins turned away with slight looks of disgust, seeming to lose their interest. Whether it was because they thought Harry was a stupid idiot for not recognizing the fact that Dippet did not have pure intentions towards his mum, or whether it was because they had found out he was essentially a pauper who had cheated the system, most of his housemates had just essentially decided to treat Harry like any other member of Hogwarts. He was not a transfer through any special skill or mystery anymore, and therefore not worth paying attention to.

Harry barely hid a smile. Over the years he had learned how to give uninteresting responses to stave off reporters.

And then, he noticed it.

Riddle was looking at him with darkly amused eyes, the glint within them telling Harry that Riddle somehow _knew_ that what Harry had just sprouted was a bunch of BS. Somehow, somehow Riddle had seen through Harry's detailed explanation and understood its core- that its purpose was to throw people off, to make people underestimate him. Riddle was not fooled.

Harry felt his smile threaten to slip off, but he forced it not to. He couldn't act intimidated by Riddle. Besides, it wasn't surprising for Riddle to see through it by any means. This was the future dark lord he was talking about, and Harry wasn't _that_ brilliant of an actor. Hopefully, though Riddle could see through the cock-and-bull story about transferring from St. Clarence, when Germany was discovered Riddle would look no further. After all, who really expected a third hidden life? As far as Harry was concerned, he was safe.

So, Harry returned Riddle's gaze. But before he could do so much as give a nod of acknowledgement, Riddle had turned his head away and started a conversation with the blond seated next to him.

Harry couldn't help it. His mouth dropped open. Hurriedly he clamped it shut again, but that didn't stop his rising indignation. He tore his eyes away from Riddle, but he couldn't tear away his thoughts.

Why had Riddle established contact only to pull away when Harry offered it? Was it just to show Harry that there was at least one person who had seen through Harry's intentions? But, why not acknowledge that then? Why not at least let Harry _nod_ to show that he understood?

Harry felt strangely cheated.

He stabbed his fork into the pumpkin pie, feeling his mood sour. Sure, Harry didn't like attention, but to be so clearly caught at doing something and then tossed aside as if he weren't _interesting_ enough—

And then he caught himself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Riddle's intention was becoming clear, and with the sudden clarity came a dawning sense of horror. If Harry Potter weren't Harry Potter, he doubted he could have caught on until it was too late.

He was… he was already getting caught in Riddle's spell. Not even a day into Hogwarts, and Tom Riddle had already managed to imprint himself into the transfer student's mind. And he had done it in such a way that no one could disrespect him, that no one could accuse him of currying favour. Riddle had not abandoned his former friends in able to draw the transfer student to him, and draw the transfer student's attention he did.

Harry was shaken. He remembered how cruel and vicious Lord Voldemort was. He had forgotten how mesmerizing and perceptive Tom Riddle could be.


	3. In the Lair of the Serpents

"Ooh," The dark haired boy next to Harry said excitedly, thankfully drawing Harry's attention to him. He was looking straight at the time travelling wizard, blue eyes twinkling mischievously. His voice soft, as if he didn't want others to hear, "That was excellently played. You've even got Crawford fooled. He's one of the harder ones to fool—well, relative to his year mates, that is."

Harry blinked, then forced a smile on his face. Riddle hadn't been the only one to notice, it seemed. A part of him was grateful. A part of him was well aware that pure noticing wasn't what made Riddle dangerous.

"They think that you're an imbecile for answering their questions so easily," the other boy sighed with a shake of their head. "They ought to know that nobody says anything in Slytherin without reason."

Off to the side, someone snorted. Harry noticed it was Yaxley.

"Something funny, oh decrepit one?" The blue eyed boy challenged, this time raising his voice so that Yaxley could hear.

A small, annoyed expression crossed Yaxley's face, "Don't call me that, Rosier. It's immature."

Rosier. The blue eyed one was the ancestor of Evan Rosier, who specialized in blood curses. Harry didn't even feel his heart pound anymore; he was too used to it. Was Harry ever going to meet a Slytherin who wasn't the granddad of a Death Eater?

"It is," Rosier said with the upmost seriousness, "the truth. Only the elderly folk have white hair."

"Are you perhaps blind?" Yaxley asked dryly, "My hair is _silver_, or perhaps even grey if you really must be picky, but it is a clear distinction from white."

Across from Yaxley, a brown haired boy sighed, "Why do you even bother trying to reason with Rosier?"

"Yes Yaxley, why bother?" Rosier parroted back, a predatory grin on his face. "Are you perhaps, a masochist like Thorndike here?"

Yaxley's eye twitched, at the same time a dark brown haired boy cried, "Hey!"

The girl sitting beside the brown haired boy smiled nastily, turning her attention away from Harry and onto whom Harry could only assume to be 'Thorndike'. "It's true, we all know it. The things you do to yourself Thorndike… tsk, tsk."

In no time at all, the pair seemed to have gotten into a bantering argument, drawing in some of the students around them. They were all friends, no doubt. Harry was glad for it. Previously, they had been staring at him, despite his rather unappealing confessions, but he supposed that the appeal of teasing a friend had been too strong to ignore.

Yaxley's voice broke through Harry's thoughts, his tone sounding utterly unamused, "Rosier, why are you being so annoying? Class hasn't even started yet and you're already—"

Suddenly, the silver haired boy stopped in mid-sentence, some sort of recognition flashing across his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had came, making Harry wonder if he'd just imagined it.

"—trying to bait me," Yaxley continued smoothly, making the slight pause in his sentence structure sound almost natural. "You know it never works. I'm not Avery or Flavian."

Avery growled, which made Harry startle a little since the blond was sitting right next to him, "Watch it Yaxley. You've already interrupted me once today."

A mocking glint entered Yaxley's eyes, but surprisingly the silver haired boy did not retaliate.

Yaxley's pale green eyes only shifted derisively over to the blond, before fixating themselves back on Rosier. "Am I wrong about Avery? Isn't he always responding to your baiting… and mine?"

Harry had always been looking at the speakers, but at the same time he had made sure not to let Riddle or Rosier out of his peripheral vision. It was due to this diligence that he noticed it—at Yaxley's words, Rosier's eyes seemed to flash, and just like Yaxley's, the expression was gone as soon as it came.

"You mean you were _baiting_ me all these years?!" Avery fumed, turning around sharply so that his body was completely facing Yaxley.

Before Yaxley could reply, Rosier let out a small chortle, his voice amused. Twinkling blue eyes met Yaxley's steel green ones. "Do you expect us to believe you actually bait Avery? We weren't born yesterday ya know. Come now, I know you hate baiting; you think it's a waste of time. Are you just trying to trump me in my games?"

Rosier's voice was light, but there was a touch of carefulness that had not been there before. Suddenly, Harry felt as if he were missing half the conversation.

Yaxley sneered, "Who could defeat the master at his own field? I doubt anyone else would invest as much time as you in making enemies rather than allies. I don't need to stoop down to your level to get what I want."

"Yeah, you just ask me to do it for you, right?"

A smirk. "Perhaps."

"It's hard to imagine they're friends," Avery muttered next to him.

"Are they?" Harry said in surprise, almost gaping at the blond.

"Hardly, Avery," Yaxley said in distaste, turning his head away from Rosier and instead focusing on the blond, "But I can see how to someone with as few braincells as you can be confused."

Avery flushed, his pale skin ripening like a tomato, "Watch it Yaxley."

"Or else what?"

"Now _they're_ not friends, that's for sure," Rosier's voice caught Harry's attention yet again, and the green haired boy once again found himself turning in his seat. The other's tone was quiet, just like it had been the first time he had spoken to Harry. This time Rosier did not attract anyone else's attention.

"Who?" Harry found himself asking the amused looking boy, ignoring the argument that had sprang up to the left of him. "Avery and Yaxley?"

"Ah, so caught their names have you? I expected no less."

Harry nearly flushed with the compliment, but quickly caught himself. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, "How could you expect anything if you don't even know me?"

Rosier only smiled in amusement, "Sharp. Like I said, I realized your introduction for what it was- a way to get us to underestimate you. Why you would want that… I'm curious."

"Well-"

Rosier shook his head sharply, interrupting Harry before he could say anything past a word, "No, no, don't answer, I know it'll just be a lie anyway. So, what do you think of Hogwarts so far?"

Harry blinked at the unexpected change in topic. Carefully, he changed his reply to match. "Hogwarts is beautiful. I'm not sure about the curriculum yet, seeing as classes haven't started, so you don't have an answer from me about that. The House System is… interesting. We didn't have it a St. Clarence. I met some Gryffindors on the Hogwarts Express and they were nice. Slytherins… are more complicated."

Rosier quirked his lips, "My, my, we're complicated? Thank you. So much better than being predictable like Gryffindors."

Harry eyed the boy warily, "You guys really hate each other, huh?"

"Hate? Nah, it's just some healthy competition. Encourages each other to reach for the best and all. Where would we all be without competition?"

"Um. Equal?" Harry said dryly.

"Exactly!" Rosier cried in horror, "Can you imagine it? The horror! If we were put in the same place as people who clean shoes for a living…!"

Harry blinked, then chuckled.

"I am very funny, aren't I?" Rosier said proudly.

"Hardly," Harry snorted, "Just thinking of… hm, a Malfoy and a Weasley cleaning shoes together. It sounds like the start of a bad joke."

Rosier quirked a brow, his eyes darting to the far left side of the table before landing back on Harry. A slow smile spreading across his face, Rosier stuck out his hand, "I think I like you. Sven Rosier."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry said bemusedly, and took the hand. "Harry Evans."

That was all it took, really. They chatted some more, engaging in silly little conversations that didn't have much to do with anything. Yaxley and Avery argued for the whole time, and Riddle never glanced in Harry's direction again. Soon, dinner was over, and Harry found himself being led by Rosier towards the Slytherin common room.

The Slytherin common room was a large underground cavern with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece to the left of the entrance, and a large portrait of a beautiful snake was hanging across from it. Green, plush chairs along with furniture of all kinds were arranged in an elaborate design; different circular patterns that were shaped to exclude. It was, Harry decided, a lot better than he remembered it.

Rosier plopped down in a 'circle' with four seats, gesturing for Harry to take a seat beside him. Harry did so. Not a moment later, Yaxley joined them, taking the other seat beside Harry.

"As careful as always I see." The silver haired boy murmured as he reclined in his chair, looking lazily at Rosier with hooded green eyes.

"And you're as observant as always," Rosier replied with a roll of his eyes. "Still, it wasn't care this time 'round. If you arrived later it'd be different."

Yaxley shrugged, resting the back of his head against the chair. "I'm sure you would have figured something out."

"I am touched," Rosier said mockingly, putting a hand to his chest, "You have such faith in me!"

"About as much faith as I have in Dippet," Yaxley said sarcastically, then seemed to pause, as if realizing someone else was there. The silver haired boy inclined his head, shifting his cool green eyes to the other occupant of their makeshift circle, "And what do _you_ think of Dippet?"

Harry was not impressed. The looks of Fifth year Slytherins had nothing on Snape, or even Dumbledore when the old man gets really angry.

"Like I said," Harry said evenly, "Headmaster Dippet is a very sympathetic man. He allowed me to transfer here, after all. He was very understanding towards our situation."

A sneer crossed Yaxley's lips, "Yes, some of these fools did fall for you explanation, but it would do you good not to lump me with them. What do you really think of Dippet?"

Harry almost sighed. Yet another person had seen through his mini-speech, then. There was no point in furthering this charade, since he had only done it to get away from questions. "Okay, I think Dippet is an idiot. A disturbing one. Who's lusting after my mum."

Yaxley's lips twitched, "Fairly accurate. Though, to be honest, I've always thought he was homosexual."

…"_What?_"

"Yes… What indeed?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. It wasn't Yaxley who had spoken.

It was that same, smooth and sibilant voice again. Harry felt shivers down his spine. Tom Riddle stalked to the other side of the 'circle', taking the last and final seat across from Harry. He sat with his arms draped carelessly on the armrests, one leg crossed over the other, completely relaxed. He looked at Yaxley bemused, "Have you by some chance found incriminating evidence against Dippet?"

"No," Yaxley conceded, a small smile just peeking through at the corner of his lips, "But with the way he acts around you, one can't help but wonder…"

An expression of disgust crossed Riddle's face, and Rosier let out a laugh. Riddle just shook his head, "Thank you Yaxley. I just had dinner you know."

"I apologize," Yaxley murmured, but this time he didn't look apologetic at all.

"No, you're not sorry in the least," Riddle said with an amused smile, then shifted his attention to Harry, "I do hope you're not taking Yaxley's description of me to heart. Dippet and I… ah, well he is simply hoping that I'll make a name for Hogwarts, that is all."

There seemed to be a sudden silence within the circle. Everyone was waiting for Harry to answer.

And what was a suitable answer? Suddenly it felt like a natural one wouldn't do. Harry laughed nervously, "Ah, not at all. I mean, from Yaxley's description, people would just think that you've got Dippet wrapped around your finger, that's all."

Riddle's eyes glittered, and he leaned forwards, ever so slightly, "Indeed?"

Harry flushed, unnerved with the attention. There was something deeply sinister about Riddle's aura, something that made the person he focused his attention on feel like prey. Harry desperately hoped that the dim lighting of the Slytherin common room concealed his unease.

"Yeah, I mean, if he acts like he's in love with you, but it's all rumour or speculation, doesn't that mean that you don't act the same way around him? So, that means that whatever relationship you two have going on is one-sided on his part, which means that you're the one who has control. So… that means that you have the Headmaster under your power." There. An explanation even Hermione wouldn't be ashamed of.

Black eyes became hooded, "How… like a Ravenclaw. Your answer, that is."

Harry froze. He got the distinct impression that this wasn't a good thing. Inwardly, Harry cursed himself; of course, acting like Hermione was hardly going to get him in the good graces of Slytherins. He fumbled for a moment, before he thought he finally came up with a suitable answer.

"Ravenclaw? Really?" Harry replied, trying his best to keep his voice mild, "I wonder why I wasn't sorted there, then."

There. That implied that Harry's Slytherin qualities outshone his Ravenclaw ones. Even Riddle should be content with that.

Riddle was. The dark haired boy's eyes glinted. Riddle leaned back, a small, satisfied smirk spreading across his lips, "No… you are more suited for Slytherin."

Harry inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Test passed.

"So," Riddle finally turned his attention away from Harry, but not before giving the boy a reassuring smile, "Yaxley, Rosier, are we prepared for this school year? It's OWLs year after all."

Yaxley feigned yawning, "It's only Hufflepuffs that lack preparation, and the occasional Gryffindor. Father's had private tutors in and out of the house the whole summer. I feel like I'm more than prepared."

Riddle's eyes flashed. His smile was very sweet. "Oh, really? Can you perhaps tutor me then? I'm not sure I can breeze by so easily."

Suddenly, Yaxley's expression found something akin to nervousness, "Well, I'm that good. Certainly not as good as you."

Riddle sat back in his chair. There was not a trace of smugness on his face. "Don't be so modest Yaxley. It's unbecoming of you."

"I'm not being modest," The silver haired boy said insistently, "You are _better_ than those tutors."

Riddle's eyes hooded, and Harry felt a momentary disgust. Had Riddle just been fishing for compliments? But then, Riddle spoke again, his voice mild, "No need to be so flattering, Yaxley. I'm sure that wizards who have gone through the necessary training for such a job is much more qualified than I. Thank you for the compliment, though. Rosier, how about you?"

Rosier grinned, giving a sly grin to the silver haired boy, "Not as prepared as Yaxley, I think. Or should I say, mummy's boy?"

Yaxley tensed. Grey eyes narrowed in a glare towards the person seated across from him, "Just because my parents actually—"

Yaxley didn't finish his sentence. He suddenly stopped talking.

"Your parents?" Rosier prompted, looking as if he were on the verge of cackling with glee, "What? Treat you like a little doll? Dole you up in dresses and all?"

"Putting a boy in a dress?" Yaxley asked mildly, "I wonder where you would get such an idea? Is it perhaps because your parents did that to you often when you were younger?"

"Alas, I wish they did," Rosier said with a dramatic sigh, making Yaxley's eyebrow twitch, "But you should know that very well. Still, I understand you forgetting; it has already been a year after all."

"I do only seem to remember the important things," Yaxley said humbly.

Rosier sniggered, "Come on Yaxley, even I think what you say can be pretty important. Don't be so down on yourself."

Yaxley looked confused at this. Harry too. He didn't really understand Rosier's connection with this one.

Rosier smiled slyly, seeming to realize Yaxley's hesitation and more than willing to correct it, "Earlier, when I called you 'mummy's boy', you had some sort of retort but seemed to forget it in the middle of your sentence."

"Ah," Yaxley's voice was mild. He glanced towards Harry, "That was because… I thought it would be crude to continue talking about family, when one of our own has so recently lost a member."

Rosier's eyes flashed, and he turned to Harry with a glance of concern, "Oh, sorry Evans. Yaxley's right, that was inexcusable of me. I won't make that mistake again."

Even though his words sounded sincere, he was looking at Yaxley, and once again Harry got the impression that he was missing half the conversation.

"It's fine," Harry said hesitatingly, when he realized that he had to say something. "I… I'd rather that people treat me normally."

"But you won't be treated normally," Riddle said quietly, causing all eyes to turn to him. He smiled, leaning back against his chair and letting the firelight illuminate his figure. His eyes were on Harry, a secret sparkling within them, "You won't be treated normally… so why not take advantage of that? Why not play on their expectations and do the things you normally wouldn't get away with? Why not use their foolishness to _your_ advantage?"

It was a heart stopping moment.

Sitting there, face shadowed by the firelight yet smirk visible through his words, Riddle seemed like a king. It was at that moment, that Harry found himself thinking that Riddle was perhaps, the most charming person he had ever met.

And then, he quickly shook himself out of the thought. This, he reminded himself, was the future Lord Voldemort.

"But we are getting rather off topic," Riddle continued smoothly, causing Harry to sigh inwardly in relief. After all, he didn't want to contemplate the eeriness that was Riddle, not quite yet. "We were on OWLs, were we not?"

"Right, OWLs," Yaxley frowned, sitting back casually in his chair, "I'm not sure there's much to talk about there, though."

"Except that it will decide our futures, of course," Riddle said lightly, and this time there was not a hint of that _otherness_ behind his tone. Somehow Harry felt that it was something Hermione would have said, rather than a dark lord. "What electives will you guys choose for the next year?"

"Runes, DADA, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms. Anyway, I'm glad Herbology and History are over with; most useless courses of the century."

"You only think that way because you're afraid that plants will ruin your _perfect_ hair," Rosier mocked. "But you're right, history with Binns is the worst thing in history. Unfortunately though, I think I'll have the exact same classes as you in year six, with the exception of Runes for Arithmancy."

There was a certain conviction about their words, as if they were sure that they would pass all those required courses. Then again, Harry supposed, they'd hardly want to take a course they found difficult.

Yaxley made a face of disgust, "Wonderful."

"It is," Riddle said evenly, "I am taking all of the courses you mentioned. Plus Herbology. So thank you Yaxley, for pointing out how useless it was."

Yaxley flushed.

"Isn't that a lot of courses?" Harry blurted out before he could help himself. Well, he was surprised. Seven NEWT level courses. Seven! That was the full set. Sure, he had come here knowing that Riddle would be the apple of Hogwarts, but still!

Riddle smiled slightly, "I suppose it is. And what are you planning on taking next year, Evans?"

Harry laughed sheepishly. He opened his mouth, about to say that he wasn't even sure if he'd pass all his courses, then thought better of it. "Huh, I don't know. I mean, I haven't had any of the teachers here yet, so I don't know if they're any good."

"Of course," Riddle nodded. "Waiting and observing is always a wise decision. But surely, you have some idea of what kind of job you want when you graduate, and therefore what courses you will need?"

Ah. Tricky. He couldn't very well say 'Auror' here, not with dark wizards and the future dark lord in the room. But saying he didn't know would only make him sound foolish, and he was already recognizing that he should stay away from anything that did that. He desperately tried to think of a plausible job. Unfortunately, he hadn't exactly had the time to look through job postings through all his years at Hogwarts; he was too busy trying to avoid getting killed by the boy in front of him.

In the end, Harry decided that not knowing was better than picking a random job only for it to be discovered that such a job didn't exist. He shook his head, "I'm not sure. I mean, there's so many things one could do with magic, and we still have three more years of learning that could very well change any opinion we have now, right?"

There. That should do it. Except that it didn't.

Riddle's eyes had sharpened, as if Harry had suddenly become a very interesting breed of frog that needed to be dissected. Yaxley was also frowning, and Rosier's grin had turned a little bit wider. Harry shifted, suddenly nervous.

"Wh-what?" He asked, not able to help the stammer.

"Ah? Was there something?" Riddle asked, smiling. In an instant that predatory air around him had vanished. "I simply thought your opinion was interesting. You have a good point."

"Indeed," a low, rough voice sounded above them, "It was a very good point."

Harry's hand reached into his pocket on impulse, but he quickly changed the direction of his move and settled his hand on his lap. He forced himself to relax; this might be Slytherin, but it was also Hogwarts with a bunch of freshly minted fifth-years. There was no Boy Who Lived for them and they weren't out to curse him. He cranked his neck upwards, wondering who had spoken.

It was a boy. A red haired boy about Harry's current age, with dark grey eyes. It was the same boy whom Tom Riddle had been talking to during dinner.

"Oh, Flavian, you're here," Riddle said not sounding surprised at all. Riddle glanced at his watch, then turned to Harry with a raised brow, "It's almost ten."

Harry hesitated, wondering what Riddle was going to say.

"Evans, have you unpacked yet?"

He wasn't sure how he knew. Maybe it was in the tone or the look accompanying the words, but he realized that it was a dismissal.

He knew how he was supposed to respond to this. There were only four chairs (why were there only four chairs?) and now that Flavian was here, there were five people. One extra person. Riddle wanted Harry to leave, but he wasn't being obvious about it. It was another test, of sorts. Maybe.

"No, I haven't unpacked yet," Harry replied slowly, frantically trying to think of a viable reason why he should stay. He had no doubts in his mind that as soon as he was gone, Riddle was going to start discussing things that weren't suitable for the light of day. "Do you think it'll take long?"

"Unpacking took me an hour," Riddle said with a thoughtful frown, as if he hadn't planned all this. He turned to Rosier, then Yaxley, "How about you guys?"

"Seventy five minutes," Yaxley said lazily, "Not that I counted."

"Mine was around that time too," Rosier agreed, and stood up. He looked to Harry with a smile, "I suppose it'll take a while to unpack your bags. We've all already unpacked. Come, I'll show you the way to the dorms."

"Ah, Flavian," Riddle said quite suddenly, "Did you get that book?"

Rosier tensed. Yaxley's grip on his chair tightened.

Flavian just looked confused, "What b-"

Riddle raised a brow, his lips quirking, and Flavian suddenly blinked.

"Oh," Flavian said with a smile of his own. A grateful one. "I forgot. Thanks for reminding me. Rosier, hold up. I'm just on my way to the dormitory; I'll show Evans the way."

Rosier and Yaxley paled. Both Slytherins snuck a glance towards Riddle, and once again Harry got the distinct impression he was only hearing half the conversation. Riddle remained as composed as ever, not a single expression changing at Yaxley's and Rosier's surreptitious glance.

"Of course," Rosier said at last, sliding back into his seat. His voice belied none of the tautness in his muscles, "Although it was silly of you to forget that book, Flavian."

"We are Slytherins, not Ravenclaws," Flavian replied, smiling a smile that showed all teeth, "Some things are more important than books, though I'm afraid that this fact is much forgotten these days."

"Never forgotten." Yaxley joined in, his voice severe, "Not by Slytherins. I don't know about Rosier, but sometimes I like to read a nice book in able to help me with the other things in life."

"Now I personally like books," Riddle cut in, his voice as suave as ever, "which is why I'm asking Flavian to get his. Now, let's have our debate some other time, shall we? Or else poor Evans is never going to get to his unpacking."

There was another moment of silence, and then-

"Of course," Three voices murmured at once.

"Well then," Flavian turned to Harry, his grey eyes sparkling with something Harry couldn't name, "Shall we?"

Mutely, Harry nodded, and Flavian swished down the corridor. He weaved past the chair circles with expert ease, reminding Harry oddly of a butterfly.

Harry followed him, making sure not to glance back at the trio of Slytherins they had left. To do so would be to show weakness, he knew that much. They went down the twisted underground tunnel, until they arrived at a door, its edges so faint that it almost didn't seem there. It was almost concealed in the rock, if it weren't for the glittering letters in front of Harry's face, he would have never known a door was there.

Flavian pushed the door open, and Harry could not help but gasp in surprise. The dormitory was not what he expected; it was warm and cozy, quite a contrast to their common room.

The room was beautiful, ornate carvings covered the place, and the ceiling had the most extravagant chandelier. White light shined through the pure crystal of the chandelier, giving the impression that somehow Harry had climbed up a flight of stairs to the main entrance when just moments before he had been underground.

The room was rectangular, and the door had been placed in the middle of one of the short sides of the rectangle. There were six beds in the dormitory, three beds on each side of the door. The beds were similar, and there was a nightstand beside each bed. The beds were all four-postured with velvet green hangings and silver lining, yet the tables beside each one was different. Each table was made of a different wood, though Harry couldn't identify any of them. There was another door at the end, which probably led to the bathroom.

It was not as homely as the Gryffindor dorms, but it was much more beautiful.

"Impressed?" There was a smirk in Flavian's voice.

"Very," Harry breathed, taking a step forward and past the threshold. He quickly spotted his familiar trunk on one of the beds, the second one to the right.

Flavian moved past him, to a bed on the left. He knelt down in one graceful motion and took out a leather-bound book. Standing back up again, he turned to Harry, "Classes start at nine, so make sure you set your alarm for eight thirty. You'll get your schedule in the morning. If you need anything, feel free to ask me."

Harry nodded, "Thank you. I'll remember that."

Flavian inclined his head in acknowledgement, then turned around and deserted the area.

Harry let out a breath. He took out his wand, twirling it between his fingers. Despite his protest earlier, he was tired. Honestly it was still some time before he normally went to sleep, but the conversations with the Slytherins had drained him.

He had known that it would be different from Gryffindor, but he hadn't realized _how_ different. Malfoy and his lackeys certainly never made it seem that it required an insane amount of wit and something approaching clairvoyance in order to succeed in the house of snakes.

With a sigh, Harry got to unpacking.

When he finished, he took a trip to the bathroom and was both pleasantly surprised and a bit sorrowful to find that it was better than the Gryffindor one. Harry quickly took a shower and changed into his pyjamas. He plopped down on his bed, hesitated, then put his wand on the nightstand. It wouldn't do to be too paranoid, especially since he wasn't supposed to know anything about Slytherins. Then he took off his glasses and it on his stand as well.

When he closed his velvet curtains, his bed was sent into complete darkness. He blinked, a little surprised, but didn't think any further of it as he settled his head against the pillow.

Instead, he thought about his new House.

He hadn't understood half of what went on the moment he sat down at the Slytherin table. He had been prepared for insults and snide remarks, not all the damned testing that had went on. He had only thought about handling his hatred for Riddle, which hadn't even turned out to be an issue.

Harry let out a ragged breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt so stupid. Even he could hear the inadequacies of his replies in comparison to Yaxley's or Rosier's. He had expected—what, he could just waltz in and earn Riddle's trust?—that had been idiotic, he now realized. But how was he supposed to do it?

_This_, Harry thought dully as he finally drifted off to sleep, _might have been a mistake_.

* * *

><p>An: I know the Slytherin common room is actually a "long, underground tunnel", but that just doesn't suit my purposes. I don't think J.K. was ever planning on expanding on the Slytherins, hence she made their common room so un-plottingful, but I can't have that.

On Betas: I seem to get asked about this for every story I write, though unfortunately people usually ask as the fic is about to go off on hiatus. So, I will address this issue early on here. It's true that I don't pay much attention to spelling/grammar, and while I might not care so much about that, I am willing to put some effort into it for you lovely readers. If anyone truly wishes to improve this story on these fronts, then please contact me.


	4. Maneuvering

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of swears and... a rooster? Groaning, Harry got up from the bed, taking a moment to orient himself and pushing the hangings open. Everyone was up already, in various states of wakefulness. He blinked in surprise to see Yaxley already standing with arms crossed, glaring towards the boy with black hair and blue eyes.

"Rosier," Yaxley grounded out, "Would you turn that damn thing off?"

Rosier was sitting on a bed beside Harry's, to the right and closest to the door. Yaxley's bed on the other hand was on the far right corner, also beside Harry's. Avery's was on the far left corner, his curtains just pulling open and his eyes bleary with sleep. Flavian seemed to be already up, though he wasn't yet changed. Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

"Rosier," Yaxley said again, warningly.

"Sure, sure, don't get your panties all in a twist," the aforementioned boy said with a yawn, swinging his legs gaily at the edge of his bed. He pulled a wand out of somewhere and pointed it in the general direction of his nightstand. The rooster noise stopped. Putting his wand away, Rosier looked to Yaxley with an amused eye. "Though you know, you could always turn it off. It's not as if I put protections spells on my alarm clock that would curse you if you tried to touch it."

"Really?" Flavian said with a smirk, pushing himself off his bed and opening the lid of his trunk. "I wouldn't be surprised if you _did_ do that."

Rosier smiled, his blue eyes hooded, "Well Flavian, I'm not you."

There was a moment of tense silence, one that Harry didn't quite understand but knew had to be some sort of insinuation against Flavian. Harry almost opened his mouth to interject (after all, Flavian had been nice to him last night, even if Rosier could technically be counted as Harry's 'friend'), but then Flavian did something completely unexpected.

Flavian blinked and smirked, his face a mask of smug superiority. "Ah, of course. Then perhaps you should ask me to help you ward your things?"

For a split second, Harry could have sworn Rosier tensed, the muscles in his arms contracting visibly. But when he looked again, Rosier was as relaxed as ever and even had a smile on his face. It didn't look fake.

"Well," Rosier said softly, but not in any way submissively. He snorted, then turned with playful eyes towards… Harry? "Well, what do you think of Slytherin so far?"

Harry startled, then quickly masked it. In front of the school it was alright to act ignorant because he didn't want the attention, but he had realized last night that with his dorm mates he could never seem clueless. They were important to Riddle.

"It's interesting," Harry said finally, carefully. "You guys sure seem to have a lot of… inside jokes."

Rosier's eyes glinted, "Ah, that we do."

The five quickly dressed, with a little bit more of the so called 'inside jokes' exchanged between Rosier, Yaxley, and Flavian. When Harry asked where Riddle was, Yaxley neutrally told him that Riddle was an early riser and usually didn't appear again until their first class. With him being a Prefect, it was even possible Slughorn had given him his timetable early.

That reminded Harry. Slughorn. He had been astonished to learn that the pudgy teacher was actually the head of Slytherin house at this time, and he didn't look forward to dealing with the school collector once again. At least now he wasn't the Boy Who Lived.

Breakfast was a light affair, with light banter filling up the space between bites. Eventually Slughorn came, and the Slytherins were quickly put into a frenzy (though it was a subtle frenzy, of course) of comparing timetables and spares.

Their first class was double Transfiguration with Hufflepuff. Harry smiled; he found himself looking forward to Transfiguration, despite the fact that he'd learned it all before.

"Alright class," Dumbledore started when they were all seated. He was wearing a startlingly normal robe but, then again, Harry supposed that he wasn't really allowed to go all out until he was Headmaster. "This is Transfiguration, as you all know. But if you don't know, that's quite alright too. After all, we still have three more years to learn our classes, hm?"

There were a few titters among the Hufflepuffs. Harry found himself letting out a small chuckle. The comment was so like the eccentric professor.

He turned to make a remark to Ron only to realize with jarring precision that Ron wasn't there. The contents of his chest did a strange little flutter it—felt queer to be attending a class without his best friend. Hurriedly Harry forced his attention back on the future Headmaster, resolving to put the matter out of his mind.

"So anyway, this is the OWL year," Dumbledore continued. "Very important, ah yes. Decides your future—who you're going to marry, what type of house you will get, how you will die..."

He nodded sagely with that damnable twinkle in his eye, seeming to encourage his students to nod along with him. Harry found himself doing it almost instinctively despite his earlier thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that all the Hufflepuffs were doing the same, as were many Slytherins. Many were outright sniggering. In fact, the only two people who didn't nod with Dumbledore were Flavian and Riddle.

The fact abruptly caused Harry to stop nodding along.

Dumbledore and Riddle; Harry had nearly forgotten about that. Riddle didn't like Dumbledore, did he? If so, did that mean Harry should keep his distance from the old man as well? On one hand, he didn't want to attract Riddle's ire, but he had been looking forward to Dumbledore's class.

Dumbledore gave a quick but witty speech about the OWLs, then immediately set them on transforming teacups into turtles. As people struggled, Dumbledore walked around, handing out tips and compliments like he handed out lemondrops in Harry's own timeline.

Harry picked up his wand and hesitated. Riddle had already transfigured his teacup into a turtle and was now changing it into different varieties and colours, a bored expression on his face. He, however, was the only one. No one else had even gotten close to finishing their transfigurations yet.

Harry could, of course, get the project done with one wave of his wand. Question was, did he want to? If he did, it would simply be because he had already spent hours on the spell previously and therefore it was no surprise, really, that he could cast a fifth-year spell. However, to everyone else it would seem as if he were as much of a prodigy as Riddle, having only seen the spell once and already having mastered it.

He did not want that. It would be much too like cheating, and the last thing Harry wanted was to cheat in Dumbledore's class.

When Dumbledore stopped at his table, Harry had still not decided.

The ginger haired man's eyes flickered down to his untransformed teacup before coming back up in question.

Harry shrugged, voice soft. "This is a spell that I know I can do. Felt like cheating if I 'accomplished' it right away."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in response. "Ah, is that so? Well, there is an easy solution for that, Mr. Evans. You have started your sixth year, correct?"

Slowly, Harry nodded, before his eyes went wide. "Non-verbals?"

"It seems an apt solution, does it not?" The transfiguration professor asked with a kindly tilt of his head. "And it applies to all your classes. I daresay you will impress your teachers when you get back."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "That's rather brilliant. Thank you professor."

Dumbledore hummed as he tapped the side of Harry's desk. "Now, I expect you to cast it as well and as quickly as you would with the incantation."

Harry grimaced. Non-verbal spells were extremely difficult. In sixth year they had hardly learned any new magic at all, instead going over the first five years of spells without speaking. Even then, it was hard to cast a non-verbal as quickly, and with as much strength, as calling it aloud.

"Yes sir," he said, more sullenly this time. He really was grateful that he wouldn't be bored out of his mind in his classes now, but no student liked being given hard work. Hermione was possibly the only exception to that.

The older man's lips twitched obnoxiously before he gave a grave nod and left to help a female student who was letting out sparks with her wand. Harry thought he caught Riddle looking at him, but when he turned around Riddle was in a deep discussion with his red haired companion.

The rest of Transfiguration passed quickly and before he knew it, it was lunchtime.

Lunch was vastly different from breakfast. Riddle was present this time and it seemed as if the whole world knew it. Riddle seemed to effortlessly keep the conversation around him going, everyone vying for a spot near him. He was the life of the table. More than that, he did it subtly. If Harry hadn't been watching for it, he was sure all he would have registered was that Riddle was a fun person to be around.

The thought sent shivers up his spine.

After lunch was double potions, which Harry had mixed feelings about.

When they arrived inside the potions room, Riddle and Flavian took seats at the front of the classroom. Yaxley and Rosier exchanged a look and, with a huff, Yaxley went off to find the dark haired girl he had talked with during breakfast. Rosier smoothly slid into a seat two rows behind Riddle and Flavian, then gestured for Harry to take the seat beside him. Harry was too tired to analyze the byplay and took the seat Rosier indicated. A moment later, Yaxley and the girl settled in directly in front of them.

There were a few minutes of chatter before Slughorn came bumbling in, his face jovial as he faced the class. He gave a quick speech on the importance of fifth year and OWLs, and then set them on the task of making Eolian, a potion that was supposed to make sails more susceptible to wind.

Harry and Rosier got out their potions supplies and started right away on the potion. It had not even been fifteen minutes when Slughorn swerved by their table.

The great walrus of a man stopped beside their cauldron and looked thoughtfully at their work. Then he raised his head and smiled at Harry. His voice was jovial, kind even, "Ah Mr. Evans, how are you adjusting to everything? I hope that nothing has been too strenuous for you so far?"

"How can it be?" Harry asked, not really thinking nor wanting to think. "This is only my second class."

"Oh, of course, of course," Slughorn quickly amended. "But you are doing well, I hope? Then again, I suppose that if St. Clarence felt the need to transfer you to Hogwarts, then you must be quite capable, hmm?"

There was a gleam of all too familiar interest in his eye. Harry knew what he was doing, and felt disgust well up in him.

Harry carefully put down the knife, "Uh, no sir, my transfer had nothing to do with my academic performance. My mother simply wished for me to attend Hogwarts, and we have only recently gained the necessary amount of money for it."

The light in Slughorn's eyes dimmed, and Harry barely held back a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to get invited into the Slug Club this time around.

"Ah," said Slughorn, sounding disappointed. "I see. Well then, very sorry to bother you Mr. Evans."

And without another look at the boy, Slughorn turned around and left. Harry only shook his head. Collecting students like trophies and discarding the ones that were not deemed good enough—it had caused more trouble than its worth, and making up excuses not to attend the boring parties was taxing.

"You don't like him," Rosier commented idly as Slughorn stopped beside Riddle's table and proceeded to carry out a long conversation with the boy.

Harry shrugged and got back to chopping the ingredients, "I can't say I don't like him. I haven't known him long enough to form an opinion."

"Hm? Really?" Rosier hummed thoughtfully, but left it at that. He got back to trying to cut their sopophorous bean, failing valiantly at it.

"You should use the side of the blade to crush it instead of trying to cut it," Harry said without thinking.

Rosier's blade stopped partially in. "What?"

"You'll get more juice that way," Harry explained, reaching out for the knife and sopophorous bean. "Here, let me."

Looking curious, Rosier handed the tools over to Harry. He made quick work of them, following the Half-Blood Prince's instructions to a tee. While his potions book might be for sixth year brews, there were some concepts that could be applied widespread.

Juice gushed out and Harry quickly dumped it into the potion. The potion turned a dark violet.

Rosier gaped, "How'd you know that?"

"Trick of the trade," Harry replied secretively. They continued working on the potion some more, with Harry making a few amendments to the instructions when he recognized them as the same as the ones the Half-Blood Prince had pointed out. Looking curious, Rosier had let him.

When the potion was done Harry sat back and simply looked at it, feeling satisfied. It had gone so much better this second time around; maybe it was because he had used some of the Half-Blood Prince's methods, maybe it was because he didn't have Snape breathing down his neck. Looking at the potion that was turning the faintest shade of blue, Harry couldn't help but feel the smallest sense of accomplishment.

He glanced at the clock. They had finished early. In Harry's time such a thing would never have been possible, but in this time Harry had the added advantage of his nifty potions book as well as the fact that he had done this potion before. It was not enough to remember it, but certainly an extra year of potions making hadn't harmed his skill. It really wasn't a surprise he had finished earlier than the rest of the recently promoted fourth years.

But then—Slughorn didn't know that.

"Harry m'boy!" Slughorn's voice boomed out in the enclosed room. Harry nearly choked; he had not thought he'd be hearing that nickname anytime soon. A few people glanced up from their potions to look at him, but then quickly glanced back down again as their potions demanded their complete attention.

Slughorn crossed the room in a few, wide steps, and within seconds he was in front of Harry's and Rosier's cauldron. He was looking critically at the work, eyes narrowed. Then he looked up, all traces of concentration gone from his face as if it had never been there.

"Brilliant, simply brilliant," he was saying, "Never seen a better Eolian Potion in my life. Why, even in my youth—Harry, you have sold yourself short when you spoke to me earlier. You have an inborn talent for potions!"

Harry froze. He hadn't meant to make himself out to be a potions prodigy. He opened his mouth to deny the statement, to tell Slughorn that he had simply used some tips that his fellow classmates at St. Clarence had given him—when he saw Riddle's gaze.

Riddle was looking at him. For the first time since dinner yesterday, Riddle was giving Harry his complete and unbridled attention. Even during the talk in the evening, Riddle had almost treated Harry as if he were simply just an extension of Rosier and Yaxley. Yet now. Yet now Riddle seemed to be seeing Harry for _Harry_.

This was what Harry needed. He needed to catch the future Dark Lord's attention—needed to become his trusted Right Hand, maybe, and learn Tom Riddle's secrets. If being talented at potions came as part of the bargain, then so be it. Spellwork Riddle would probably never claim himself inferior in, but brewing? It was perhaps an avenue of advancement. If Riddle would confide in Harry, simply because of a skill… Harry felt that he could pull it off. Maybe.

He quickly reworded what he was going to say, "Sir—this potion, Rosier and I were working together for it."

He knew what was going to come next.

"Nonsense, nonsense," Slughorn waved off the comment, true to Harry's predictions. "I've been teaching Rosier here for four years, I know what his skills in potions are like. To make a potion like _this_, well, it has to be the new blood, hasn't it? No need to be so modest Harry m'boy, no need to be so modest."

He was 'Harry m'boy' now, rather than Mr. Evans. Wonderful. Sometimes Harry really wondered why Ron wanted to have this type of attention. At the thought of Ron, another painful throb went through his heart, and Harry had to quickly push the thought of his best friend out of his mind in order to concentrate on what Slughorn was saying.

They chatted a little more (or more accurately, Slughorn gushed out praises and Harry simply nodded or said a few short, revealing sentences) before the bell rang. Harry had noticed that Riddle had turned away after the first incidence, but he also noted that throughout his whole exchange with Slughorn, Riddle had had his head tilted, ever so slightly, as if he were listening in on the conversation. Harry barely held back a smirk; maybe he could do this after all.


	5. For the Chivalrous Beings

The next few days Harry was in a very good mood. The conversation with Slughorn on Wednesday had gone inordinately well and he was confident that the next time Riddle decided to hold a little secret meeting, Harry wouldn't be left out.

They ate breakfast as usual (without Riddle) with Harry chatting amicably with Rosier, whom he was finding a fast friend. On Friday he gained a bit of unexpected insight into his new friend.

"I can't believe Rosier isn't taking Ancient Runes," Harry murmured, still a little shocked. One needed Ancient Runes in order to perform rituals, and rituals definitely weren't a muggleborn preferred method of spellwork.

It had, actually, been the reason that Harry was taking the elective. Although Dumbledore had said that there had been a time sensitive portion to the magic circle he'd stepped on in Halloween, he had not yet deciphered how long the period of time would be. He encouraged Harry to learn about runes so that he could read it himself.

Harry knew exactly what the wizened man was doing. Dumbledore took more time out of his day to teach Harry the basics of runes than even German. Because Dumbledore felt no real hurry in sending Harry back home, he was indulging in furthering the mind of a student. Harry, being impatient for information as he was, easily fell into the trap.

He had learned in a strange order he wasn't really fifth or even fourth year level, but considering he had already taken all of his other fifth year courses he could afford to play catch up with one of them. Besides, there were no real consequences to failing, which meant he could basically audit the class.

"I doubt that Rosier is thinking as far ahead as you," Yaxley remarked dryly. "Then again, I don't suppose he has the patience for this type of thing."

They were briskly walking down the second floor corridor towards Ms. Vance's class. Out of the Slytherins it was only Rosier and Avery, as well as a girl named Chancery Cooper, who hadn't taken it. Rosier had claimed that ancient runes was a dead language and thus, unhelpful, and Harry had a secret suspicion that Avery just found it too hard. He wasn't sure about Chancery Cooper, but it really wasn't his concern and if he hadn't overheard a trio of girls talking about it he wouldn't have even known.

The Slytherins shared a period with Hufflepuff, which made sense when Harry thought about it. There weren't a lot of Hufflepuffs in Ancient Runes, and if Harry's experience in the house of lions was any indication, there probably wouldn't be a lot of Gryffindors in the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw class either. Whoever had organized the class divisions had been smart; they had foreseen that most students taking the course would be from Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and thus hadn't put the two in one class. Doing so would have made one class too crowded, and one class much too empty.

That was exactly what he was thinking as they filed into the classroom, each taking their seats and taking out their books. Though he had never taken his books out upon entering before, Harry copied his peers, not wanting to seem like an outsider. There were only three Hufflepuffs in the room.

Ms. Vance, a short, black haired woman with steely grey eyes was their teacher. She gave a quick speech on OWLs, as all the teachers had done so far, and then immediately began on a new lesson, having already expected them to have completed the review during summer.

In the period that would have been a mad scramble for books in any other class, the Ancient Runes students instead only began writing. Harry suddenly understood why everyone had already taken out their books earlier; they had expected this type of thing. Either that, or everyone taking Ancient Runes was simply that type of person.

And then, Ms. Vance started to talk.

Harry listened in rapt attention even though he could only understand snatches of what she was saying. Nevertheless, there were funny little anecdotes and symbols that Mrs. Vance taught that Harry found supremely helpful. He wondered what Hermione would have thought of her explanations. Harry smiled, and got to note writing.

"Oh," Ms. Vance said as she passed by his table during independent work time. They were copying the runes that she had drawn on the board and she was inspecting everyone's work with minute suggestions. In some ways it was like potions class, except that Yaxley had assured Harry that not all classes were this simple. "Oh, very well drawn Mr. Evans. Never seen a steadier hand."

Harry thanked her, blushing slightly at the praise.

"Don't tell me you are a Runes prodigy as well as a potions one," Yaxley said in amusement when Ms. Vance was out of earshot. "Please leave some subjects for the rest of us mere mortals."

"You need steady hands for potions," was Harry's reply.

"Ah, but of course."

Their next class was Defense, and this time Rosier did join them. They met up at the end of the corridor. Harry had lagged behind a little because Ms. Vance needed to give him some papers, and Yaxley had stayed with him. The other Slytherins had already gone.

Defense was another class which Harry was excited for, and for completely different reasons. One was the fact that it was his favourite class, no matter what. Another was that it was their first class with the Gryffindors. Harry liked the Gryffindors immensely and had been hoping to see them again. He also was curious to what this Defense Against Dark Arts teacher would be like. Granted, anyone was better than Umbridge.

The Defence classroom was situated at the end of the sixth floor corridor. When they passed the corner to the Defence classroom, Harry saw that Silas, Jeremy, Chris, and Brandon were already in front of the door. They were still some distance away, but a shout would catch their attention. Harry moved to greet them, but the voice of Yaxley stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, well," Yaxley said with a sneer, something ugly in his normally cool aristocratic voice. "If it isn't the mudblood and his blood-traitor friends."

Harry felt the blood freeze in his veins.

"Now, now, Yaxley," Rosier admonished. "You shouldn't be _quite_ so harsh."

Harry felt a twinge of relief. Rosier—Rosier was defending the Gryffindors. It was something the Slytherins of Harry's time wouldn't have done, but Jeremy had said that the Slytherins _were_ quite tolerant, and Yaxley must just be an exception because he was from a snooty family and—

And Rosier's next words burst his bubble. "After all, Jacobs is as much of a mudblood as Walker is, and the Prewetts are piss poor. You can hardly call those two blood traitors; that would imply that they had something to betray in the first place."

Yaxley laughed. It was not a kind laugh. "You are right about that."

Harry's hands were shaking. It took all his effort not to gape at the two beside him. He was struggling furiously to think of how this could be. Chris and Jeremy had said that the Slytherins were not all that bad and— and then, with horrible, blinding realization, he grasped the truth. It was not _Yaxley_ who was the exception, it was Riddle.

Riddle, because he was the bloody Dark Lord and could afford to converse with muggle-borns. Riddle, because he had to appear perfect in every single way and his followers understood that. Riddle, whom had the excuse, whereas Harry did not.

With a sinking heart Harry realized that if he wanted to continue being in the Slytherins' good graces, he could not have the Gryffindors.

Yaxley and Rosier were walking towards the Defense classroom, but Harry had stopped. Curious, the two turned back to look at him, and with a weak smile (he couldn't afford to falter now) Harry started after them. They arrived at the entrance at the same time.

Jeremy was in the middle of loudly explaining how radios worked to Silas, with Chris just shaking his head sadly to the side. Brandon looked amused and Silas a cross between annoyed and downright confused. Jeremy's explanation had at some point involved pink elephants and the muggles' ability to harness their power.

Harry had to swallow hard; it was just the type of conversation he would have loved to be involved in, but he knew now that it would never happen. Slytherin would never allow themselves to seem ridiculous in any way, even in jest, and as for Gryffindor…

Jeremy broke off mid-sentence as he noticed the three newcomers. He turned, saw Harry, and smiled. "Hey! We've been waiting for you out here. I saw that we have a class together and I really wanted to greet you."

Rosier and Yaxley shared a glance. Harry stepped forward.

"Hello again Brandon, Jeremy, Silas…" Harry had the name 'Chris' on the tip of his tongue, but then he saw the looks on Rosier's and Yaxley's faces. Expectant and totally confident. Harry let the word sit on his tongue for a little while longer, then closed his mouth.

He did not call out Chris's name.

Chris was looking at him expectantly, but when the minutes passed and no greeting came, everyone got the message. Something flashed in Chris's brown eyes. He opened his mouth in a soft 'O' of realization, then staggered back slightly, his face crumbling. But there was something in his eyes, something that told Harry that he was used to this sort of treatment. And Chris saw that Harry saw it too.

Chris looked down, resigned, and Harry felt a flash of guilt so powerful that it actually took an effort to keep from prostrating himself on the ground and begging for forgiveness. Instead, he ignored the suddenly furious looks of Silas and Jeremy and the smug smirks of Rosier and Yaxley, and headed into the classroom.

He sat down on a seat near the back, and Rosier and Yaxley seamlessly slid themselves in on either side of him.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Rosier murmured, glee evident in his voice. "I thought he was going to burst out crying. That was brilliant, Evans! I've never thought of greeting everyone but him."

Harry's fists clenched under the table. He hadn't meant to stop his greeting half-way; he had meant to say hello to all the Gryffindors. He tried to keep his voice cool, "Greet who? As far as I know, there were only three people that I needed to greet."

Yaxley let out an amused chuckle. "You are a cold one Evans, I will give you that. You are decidedly a pureblood then? Funny, I can't recall hearing your name."

"I am from a small family," Harry said vaguely. "Not as well known as the Yaxleys or Rosiers, but we have our pride too."

He wasn't in the mood for mind games, not when he was feeling this badly. But he had to continue, that much he knew. At the moment though he just wanted them to stop bothering him.

He tried to think of something that would lead them off track. "Thinking about that, I've never heard of the Riddles either."

Yaxley and Rosier tensed. They glanced at each other, which Harry would have been interested in any other time except now.

"Riddle may be his name," Yaxley said hesitantly, "But I doubt it is his real name."

"Hm, that may be so, but is he for certain a pureblood?" Harry asked, waving a hand, "I mean, I saw him talking to a—a mudblood."

It hurt every fiber of his being to say that dirty word. An image of Hermione's smiling face flashed across Harry's mind, but he quickly pushed that down. He couldn't afford to think of her, not here.

Something akin to amusement flashed across Yaxley's face. "Rest assured Evans, Riddle does not in any way tolerate dirty blood any more than we do. He simply has… ah, a reason to be able to pretend to treat them well. You see, he has this fantastical ambition to be the best student in the school, and though I'm sure he could do just as well even if he ignored the dirty bloods, he insists that treating mudbloods well is the key to winning many-a-teachers' hearts. After seeing Dumbledore, I am somewhat more inclined to agree."

"But can you imagine it?" Rosier asked lazily, leaning back in his chair. "Going day in and day out actually being _civil_ to those creatures? I think I would go insane. Riddle is simply amazing at acting; we always laugh about what he's said later."

"Ah, I see," Harry said woodenly. "He is simply pretending to get along with mudbloods. Truly amazing. I am not sure I can even manage it."

"I know, right?" Yaxley sneered. "They are different from us. Merlin knows why they are allowed at Hogwarts."

Thankfully, it was just then that the DADA professor arrived. Yaxley, Rosier, and Harry didn't say anything more. In fact, Harry made sure not to even glance at the two people he had come to consider friends in the past few days, having the excuse that he was trying to pay attention to the teacher should they ask. He had too much on his mind.

He had come in prepared, knowing that they were Slytherins and purebloods. He had known that these were the grandfathers of future Death Eaters who didn't even blink at murder. Yet—yet he had somehow forgotten that.

He cursed himself for being so stupid. These people were not his friends; they were simply part of a past he needed to exploit to find out Voldemort's weakness. Octavian Yaxley and Sven Rosier didn't really exist for Harry Potter. He shouldn't have acted like they did.

DADA passed in a blur, and the Gryffindor boys never came in. Thankfully the teacher had just been going over the lecture for OWLs; he didn't think he could have taken notes if they'd had an actual lesson. He did not get to evaluate the teacher as he had originally planned; his thoughts were much too preoccupied with thoughts of Rosier and Yaxley and how completely wrong he had been about them. With thoughts about the Slytherins, and how stupid Harry had been to think otherwise. With thoughts of the fun banter he had shared with the two. With thoughts of Chris's face, and the Gryffindors who never showed up to class. Harry's thoughts had gone round and round in circles.

When lunch came about Harry begged off, saying that he wasn't hungry; Yaxley had given him a funny look, but Harry couldn't care at the moment. He bade the two to go ahead, and after sharing a glance with each other, Yaxley did so.

Rosier did not.

"Evans," Rosier had a surprisingly serious expression on his face, "Look, it's not good to miss lunch. Is… something the matter?"

Harry was surprised he had asked. Slytherins were not known for their comfort after all. "Er… no. I'm just still pretty full from breakfast this morning. Ate too much."

Rosier looked at him doubtfully. "Alright, if you say so. I'll leave you alone for a bit, but remember that I'm your friend."

And without further adieu, Rosier turned on his heel and left.

Harry watched him go with mixed feelings. Had Rosier just tried to… help him? 'I'm your friend' he had said. It conflicted with his image of the sneering aristocrat who had declared that all muggle-borns should just die.

Harry let out a frustrated breath and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to _do_ about the Slytherins. They were so confusing. What he needed to do was think.

Searching for the perfect place to think Harry's feet led him to a familiar, relaxing place.

He arrived at the empty grounds alone. The air still held the chill of early morning, but Harry knew it would warm up soon. Besides, he had been in more frigid weather before. He walked to the tool shed and shuffled through the school brooms. He took out the most well taken care of one that he could find. Kicking it into gear, Harry ascended into the air.

The broom seemed slow, very slow, especially after having gotten used to his Firebolt and the exhilarating chases he used to have with the Death Eaters. On the plus side, at least he was in the air without worrying about when he'd get shot down again.

And so, his mind wandered.

What was he going to do about Rosier and Yaxley? Now that he knew them as what they were, he wasn't sure if he should continue treating them as friends. Yet, if he didn't treat them as friends, surely they would notice?

Why had he thought of them as friends in the first place? He should have known that they'd be prejudiced gits. Why had he—ah yes, because they were fun to be around, weren't they? Actually, now that he thought about it…

Wasn't Ron (he missed Ron and Hermione badly) something of a prejudiced git when Harry had first met him? As much as he hated to tarnish his best friend's character, Harry was under no illusion about how fair and just Ron was. Of course, Ron had outgrown his childishness, but Harry had to first give him a chance.

Rosier and Yaxley were equally as childish, but unlike the time with Ron, Harry was not willing to give them a chance.

They were still Slytherin bigots, but he had known that from the start. He still hated the fact that he had to act like he hated muggle-borns, but knew that Rosier's and Yaxley's hate was just a part of them. Besides, it wasn't as if Harry were giving them a chance to even change their ways. By not showing them how wrong they were, Harry was essentially condoning their actions.

He shook his head, it was all too confusing. He didn't _know_ what to do. He sighed, leaning forward without meaning to. And suddenly, his broom broke into a dive. A spectacular one. Harry pulled up at the last instant, all thoughts of Rosier, Yaxley, and Riddle disappearing from his mind. He had a smile on his face.

He pointed his broomstick upwards and ascended high, allowing the broom to perform a twirl in the air. Then he broke into another dive, pulling up a good ten meters from the ground. He tested the broom to its limits, smiling all the while as he did so. _Here_ was a place where manipulation held no ground and skill spoke true. He didn't need to think about depressing things here.

When he was finally satisfied, Harry landed back on the ground and, gracefully as he pleased, hopped off the ancient flying stick. The problem was, someone was already there.

"Ah," it was Dumbledore. He was standing in the middle of the field, making Harry wonder how in the world Harry had missed him. Behind half-moon glasses, blue eyes were twinkling maddeningly, making Harry's breath catch. "Mr. Evans, that was some truly impressive flying. Have you considered joining the Quidditch team?"

"I have decided to focus on my studies this year," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. "Considering how much extra work I seem to be getting as a transfer, sir."

Dumbledore had to know that he was quite pointedly referring to the German and the Ancient Runes. Normally, that would have been nowhere near enough to deter Harry from Quidditch of all things, but Harry wasn't confident in managing it in relation to the Slytherin maneuvering.

Dumbledore threw a secret smile in Harry's direction. "What a shame for dear old Horace. But it is very good news for me. I am the Head of Gryffindor you see, so I was worried you would join the Slytherin team and then we wouldn't ever have a chance at the House Cup."

"So that's why you've saddled me with all the learning," Harry said, bemused. "And here I thought you cared about my education."

"Well," Dumbledore hid his mouth behind a hand, but his eyes were smiling, "I wouldn't put it like that. Oh dear, now I suppose you have a poor impression of me?"

"Even if I did, I wouldn't say so. How could I be truthful if I am in Slytherin?" Harry had meant to say it jokingly, but it came out surprisingly bitter.

Dumbledore became very still; so too did Harry.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "How are you coping with your House?"

"It's great!" Harry blurted out, cursing himself for his earlier mistake. "The dorms are beautiful, everyone's fairly friendly to me, and—and—"

"Harry my boy," Dumbledore's voice was solemn, his gaze intense. Harry fell silent, recognizing a useless attempt when he saw one and deciding not to dig himself into a deeper hole. "If you should ever require anything of me, whether it be my time or my power, all you need to do is ask."

Harry's mouth was dry, "What do you mean, sir?"

"I am a teacher, and I do not want you to be unhappy. If you have a problem, you can be sure to ask me for help. I will not judge you, nor will I diverge your secrets. Of course there are certain things you cannot say, but any problem to do with this time I will listen to ardently. If you ever feel like the world is against you, remember that my door is always open."

Harry just stood there, almost gaping at the old man. He remembered in second year, when Dumbledore had asked him if there was anything, anything at all, that Harry wanted to share. If Harry had just told him about the voices, could the whole disaster with the Chamber of Secrets have been avoided? But this was different. Harry couldn't possibly tell Dumbledore about the scheme he was entertaining.

Nevertheless… nevertheless, Harry wasn't sure how much more of this he could take without some support. "Ac—actually, I do have a question, sir. Suppose that you made a friend, and that friend was really quite a brilliant friend. But then, something happened, and you realized that the friend might not be so brilliant after all. I mean, they were still a good friend, it's just that you found that you two were very disagreeable on one very important subject. Say, he truly and utterly believed that Hufflepuffs were worthless, and inferior, and might as well just die. You however, know that's wrong, and that Hufflepuffs are humans just like the rest of us. How would… what would you do?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a sharp glance, and for some reason Harry felt that it was possibly the worst hypothetical question he could have asked Dumbledore.

"Harry my boy," Dumbledore said gravely, "I am sorry you are in this situation. That question is… well, I shall try my best to answer it. I think… that it is all dependent on how important this friend is. I do not ever think that a friend is worth compromising your morals for, but if this friend is someone you desperately do not want to lose, then I think it would be in both your interests to agree to never bring up the subject which hurts you both. And then, if you _know_ that he is wrong, try to convince him daily that Hufflepuffs are not worthless. Who knows Harry, perhaps you could change this friend's mind before it all reaches the point of no recovery."

Harry swallowed, wondering if that was even possible. He was not particularly persuasive, nor was he intelligent enough to make the factual argument. Even if he could possibly sway Yaxley and Rosier from their misconceptions, it would just about sever any chance Harry had to get close to Riddle, whom he knew with certainty would not change his views.

"I'm just not sure," Harry mumbled before he could stop himself.

"If you aren't," Dumbledore said gently, "Then who is? If you won't stand for your convictions, then who will follow you?"

Convictions…

Harry's eyes widened slightly as realization washed over him. He had no true conviction. He had planned on befriending Tom Riddle by virtue of proximity, and in doing so, possibly gain some valuable information on Voldemort. The entire idea, while not exactly whimsical, had been borne with the understanding that he could stop at any time. He did not _have_ to find whatever secrets the fifteen year old Voldemort was hiding. Even if he failed at his self-appointed task, it would not affect his future.

He was swaying at the edge of a precipice. He could still step back now and apologize to Chris Walker and the others. The Slytherins would hate him, but he would not hate himself.

Or he could jump and fully sink in the quagmire that was the House of Slytherin. He could see now that no half measures would do. Perfunctory actions would not be enough to take and hold the future Dark Lord's regard. If he truly wanted information, he could not shirk but instead press forward, even if his principles screamed no. It meant trying, really _trying_, and not just being washed along by the flow of his housemates.

He had no conviction because despite being sorted into Slytherin, he had not yet truly made a choice. Dithering about the cliff side meant understanding neither the hidden secrets of the chasm, nor the joy of safety on solid ground.

Harry closed his eyes, and chose.

Chris would be fine. He had his friends to support him. If Chris could forget Yaxley and Rosier, he could forget the imbecile Evans.

Harry's eyes fluttered open. His back was straight as he met Dumbledore's gaze without any hesitation present, and nodded solemnly. "You're right. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he gave a small bow. "Anytime, Mr. Evans. I'm very glad I could be of help."

Harry smiled wanly. He felt a lot lighter. Not like he had before the DADA lesson of course, but better nevertheless.

"Ah," Dumbledore said in dismay, looking at the watch around his wrist. "Look at the time. I'm afraid I must leave you Harry, as I have a class to teach. Now, off I trot. Good day, good day!"

And with that, Dumbledore was gone, as if he had never been.

Harry shook his head, staring wistfully after the old man. Then he took a deep breath. It wouldn't be easy, and it sure as heck wouldn't make him feel good, but Harry was going to immerse himself in all that pureblood propaganda. For his time. For his friends. For Dumbledore.

* * *

><p>An: For those who are wondering, yes Dumbledore was thinking of Grindelwald when answering Harry's question.


	6. Warning

He had the weekend, thankfully, to fully settle in. It helped that the Slytherins during their weekends did much the same things that Gryffindors did, including chess and Exploding Snap. That, and essays. Slytherins, it seemed, had a much higher sense of priority than Gryffindors and they really, really, liked to schedule. Saturday had been spent in the library, something which even Rosier had consented to.

Sunday was quite different. It was a whole day of lazing around and playing games. Harry even went flying again, though this time it was not by himself. Rosier joined him and, surprisingly, so too did Avery. Despite his Crabbe-and-Goyle-like talk, Avery _was_ a good flyer.

By Monday Harry had managed to get back to a decent sense of normality. So, when he saw Silas and Jeremy outside the History classroom that morning, he did not even feel his heart beat. Really.

Instead, Harry focused all his attention on Rosier, whom he was talking to at the time. He pretended not to see Silas and Jeremy narrow their eyes as he ignored them, walking past the two sentinels as if he did not know exactly why they were standing outside.

He felt a tug on his sleeve, forcing him to stop just after the doorway. He turned around. It was Silas, and his eyes were cold. Rosier also paused, raising a brow. Silas pulled Harry close so that the green eyed boy could feel Silas's ragged breath on his face. Harry froze, unable to help his reaction.

"Tonight," Silas said tightly, his voice barely a whisper. "Sixth floor, left corridor."

Then, just like that, he let go and he and Jeremy walked off briskly, brushing past the two Slytherins and taking their seats behind Chris and Brandon. Immediately Chris leant backwards on his chair, his eyebrows furrowed as he furiously questioned the two about what they had said.

Rosier cocked his head, glancing at Harry, "What was that?"

It was obvious he didn't hear. Silas had not meant for him to, probably. Question was, should Harry tell Rosier?

Harry's mouth was dry. "He was mad about what I did to the mudblood."

Rosier snorted in amusement, turning away. "I see. Well then, nothing to worry about. Let's go find a seat, Evans."

They sat behind two Slytherin girls whom Harry didn't quite care enough to think of their names. Their ghostly teacher droned on, prompting the students to take out their books from other classes and start working on them. Methodically Harry followed them, but his mind was not in it.

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists, wondering if he should consent to the two's request. He did not _need_ to, and if anyone saw him meeting Gryffindors all his efforts in Slytherin would be washed away. And yet.

That evening Harry begged off, giving some vague excuse about wanting to explore the castle. It sounded suspicious even to his own ears, but thankfully after some assurances that the others could come find him if he didn't return in an hour, Harry was finally allowed to go. He walked around the corner and started briskly towards the meeting place Silas and Jeremy had assigned.

He found the two on the sixth floor corridor, and it was just them. The two jumped about half an inch, wands pointed towards him.

Harry managed a weak smile, "Good reflexes."

They did not return the gesture. Jeremy pocketed his wand again. Silas did not.

"You suppose it's funny, don't you?" The blond snarled, his face a tight mask of fury. "You dirty, rotten—"

"Silas," Jeremy said warningly, interrupting the blond. "Don't make Brandon and I regret letting you come instead of him. We are here to talk, not fight."

Silas grunted and let his arm fall back to his side. He still did not put back his wand however.

"So," Jeremy turned back to Harry, a smile ready on his face. "You must be wondering why we called you all the way here, Evans."

Unlike Silas, Jeremy's face was cheerful, but Harry could see it for what it truly was. Harry had seen Jeremy's easy laugh and this was not it. This smile was too tight at the corners, too stretched on Jeremy's tanned face. Behind this smile there was anger and sadness, warning and caution.

Harry nodded mutely in reply to Jeremy's question.

"Well then, first things first," Jeremy continued with that forced smile of his. "We want you to _understand_ that we… well, understand. No hard feelings. We get it, you're in Slytherin, you can't associate with _blood traitors_." There was a derisive sneer to those words, as if Jeremy thought it was the most idiotic thing in the world. "We get it. It'd make it difficult for you in your dorms, right?"

"And of course you shouldn't have to face any difficulty with your House," Silas continued sarcastically. "No, it's much better for your health if you betray your former friends, people who would have been more than glad to help you. No, of _course_ you shouldn't have to fight for your beliefs, of course you should use any means possible for you to stay in your Housemate's good graces. Of course!"

What they truly meant to say rang clearly in the air, even if they did not give voice to it.

_You are a coward. You chose the easy way out._

The words were a punch in the gut.

It wasn't true, he thought dully, they didn't understand. But to them it would amount to the same thing and unless he was willing to explain, he couldn't fault them for the conclusions they had drawn. He had made his decision and he was willing to bear the consequences.

"You are not a bad person," Jeremy said softly when Harry could say nothing. "We know that. You did not hate Chris on the train, in fact I don't think I am out of line to say that you liked him very much. But we—_I_ cannot forgive you for what you did to Chris on Friday. We'll let you go this time Harry, because, like I said, we understand. But if there is ever a second time… Evans, you will find that Gryffindors do _not_ abandon their friends."

There was something fierce about Jeremy's last statement, strong and willful, like a lion protecting its cubs. Harry detachedly noted that Jeremy would make a good father someday.

"Of course," a cracked voice replied, and Harry noted with some surprise that it was his own. "I will keep that in mind."

"And one last thing," Silas spat hatefully, "When they betray you—because oh yes, you have confirmed to me that Slytherins are traitors, so rest assured that they will betray you—when they betray you, don't come running back to _us_. You've missed your chance with us."

Then Silas stomped away. This time, Jeremy did nothing to contradict him.

The two left Harry in the empty corridor, his gut churning and his body shaking.

Harry didn't sleep well that night.

He tossed and turned, going over the events since he had arrived at Hogwarts in every angle in his mind. Was there a way that things could have turned out differently? Was there a way he could have impressed the Slytherins without alienating the Gryffindors?

When he awoke, sore and tired on Tuesday, Harry decided that no, there was nothing he could have done. Silas and Jeremy's warning wasn't something that he didn't already know after all, even if it was a shock hearing it from the two of them. He could at least take it into his heart that they cared, and that thought warmed him.

By Wednesday Harry had completely gotten over it. He had made his decision and had worked through his doubts. When Harry had Transfiguration he actually stayed after class and thanked Dumbledore, telling him that Harry's problem had been solved. Dumbledore looked surprised, but warmly congratulated him, leaving Harry with a sense of euphoria when he went to lunch. Also at lunch time, for the first time since school started, Riddle didn't show up. Harry had been about to ask for his whereabouts when he noted that Flavian wasn't there either. He hesitated, then decided it might be wiser not to remark on it. When Potions rolled around the fifth year Slytherins all headed to the dungeons, sans Riddle and the redhead. As he had done previously, Yaxley went to find that Slytherin girl, leaving Harry with Rosier. Riddle was, oddly, still not there. But Flavian was.

"Rosier," Flavian smiled, walking up to them when the duo entered the potions classroom. It seemed that he had arrived there first. "We haven't worked with each other in ages. How about we partner in Potions for today?"

Harry stared at the boy.

Rosier, on the other hand, threw back his head and laughed. Flavian stiffened but Rosier didn't seem to notice. He was still chuckling. "Well, isn't this interesting? Of course Flavy-deary, let's go find a work table then. Evans, terribly sorry, but my dear old friend here just needs my presence, you know?"

Flavian's smile had frozen on his face. "Rosier. Please stop it with the ridiculous nicknames."

Rosier _tsked_ in disappointment and dragged the red haired boy to a table near the back, instantly beginning to set up their things. Harry was left standing in the middle of the Potions classroom, not quite sure what was going on.

Just then, Riddle came into the room. He glanced at Harry and smiled. Then he gestured for the transfer student to come closer. Curious, Harry did so.

"It looks as if we've both been left by our potions partners, doesn't it?" Riddle murmured amusedly, his voice barely audible. "Well then, would you like to partner with me?"

Harry blinked in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't _that_. Was it fate? He couldn't believe that he had been sent such a perfect chance to get closer to Riddle. It was a good decision to act the part of a Potions prodigy—Riddle probably wouldn't have asked him otherwise. Smiling, Harry agreed.

Slughorn came in and the class quickly scrambled to get out their tools. The chalk flew up to the board and quickly started writing out instructions. Riddle and Harry glanced at each other and with a nod of acknowledgement, Harry quickly got up and went to get the ingredients from the potions cupboard. He knew that the future Lord Voldemort wouldn't want to.

He came back with an armful of ingredients and the two quickly stared on the first phase of the potion: chopping. The two Slytherins chopped in silence and Harry couldn't help his mind wandering. Really, he couldn't.

Harry glanced over at Flavian and Rosier, a small frown making its way up his face. As far as he knew they weren't such good friends, and it didn't look like they were discussing damming secrets. He wondered why Flavian had sought Rosier specifically, and in a class where whatever they said could be overheard too…

Oh. Hold on.

_Don't tell me Riddle purposefully—_

Harry whirled back to Riddle who was still nonchalantly cutting his newts tails.

Shit. He was so screwed.

He felt like he was going to hyperventilate. Sure, they were just cutting ingredients now, but they wouldn't be forever. Soon they were going to get to the actual potions aspect and Harry had no doubt in his mind that he had to pull off a spectacular performance. Or else.

He took a breath and assured himself that it would be alright. He could do it. All he had to do was follow the Half Blood Prince's instructions. Yeah, that was right. It would be OK.

He did just that.

When it was time for the brewing, Harry remembered a useful bit about stirring counter-clockwise right after adding in astropical.

"Hm," Riddle made a noise of contemplation, "And why is that?"

Harry froze. His mouth was dry. "W-why?"

"Yes," Riddle said, "I am curious. You say that stirring counter-clockwise three times before stirring clockwise will help with the effect of the potion, but why? Does it even the clastic texture, does it lighten the colour? And if so, why?"

Harry had forgotten that Riddle was something of a scholar. It was all too easy to forget, watching his wide-eyed admittances to teachers, then equally cold words to students. It was too easy to think of Riddle as just the master manipulator, to forget that he was _more_ than that. He was also a master of spells, a long-time visitor of books, and _of course_ he would want to know how some random student had seen a solution that Riddle himself had not glimpsed.

Harry had to be stupid to have forgotten that.

"Well," Harry began, his mind working furiously to think of a good response. He couldn't. Not a believable one. Harry floundered for a moment, but thankfully it was at that moment that Slughorn decided to pay their table a visit.

"My boys! My boys!" The walrus-like man boomed, greeting them happily as he came to a stop at their table. His smile was stretched so wide that it appeared to split his face in half, and his little beady black eyes were gleaming brightly. "Ah, nice to see two of my favourite boys working together. With the two of you working together, this table will create the best potion, I suspect."

Riddle's eyes flashed in annoyance, but when he turned to face Slughorn all that was present in his expression was a sort of modest awe. "Sir, I think it would be too early to presume such things. Although I must say, with a prodigy such as Mr. Evans to help me, I wouldn't be so surprised if we _do_ end up making the best potion."

Harry almost marveled at how quickly and how completely Riddle had changed his countenance, but the thought of the fact that he had to be expected to do the same if he ever hoped to trick Riddle spoiled the wonder for him. That, and the fact that this was the future Voldemort he was admiring.

Slughorn waved a hand, "So modest, so modest. Mr. Riddle, do not pretend that you have nothing to do with the quality of this potion that is being brewed. You are, after all, still my best student." Slughorn turned to Harry with a wink. "Rest assured Mr. Evans, with a guide like Mr. Riddle, you can't go wrong."

When Slughorn finally left, Harry was a mess of nerves. He had tried his best to keep the teacher there, but even Slughorn had seen that if he kept too much of their time, their potion would suffer. Indeed, they only had twenty minutes left of class.

"Well," Riddle said, glancing at the clock, "If it were anyone else, I wouldn't be so sure we could finish our assignment on time. Well, let's get working then. Toss in the aspagot, unless you have another suggestion?"

There was a certain sound of amusement present in the last sentence that had Harry gulping. He did put in the aspagot, as well as a few other ingredients. Riddle brewed. Throughout the whole time, Harry kept expecting Riddle to continue his line of questioning. He was so distracted that he almost made a Neville Longbottom mistake, and it was only Riddle's hiss of warning that stopped him from tossing in the explosive component. After that, he decided to concentrate on actually making the potion; it wouldn't do to mess up a simple brew when trying to hide the fact that he was a fake potions prodigy.

When Potions was over, Harry practically ran for it. He didn't give Riddle a chance to talk to him, only uttering a quick goodbye before he was out the door.

As soon as Harry turned the corner and couldn't be seen anymore, he raced for the library. He arrived breathless and panting, earning an odd stare from the librarian. He smiled at her weakly and with a shrug, she turned back to her work.

Harry leant against the doorframe, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, and then walked briskly towards the potions section. Hurriedly he flipped through the titles, anxious to find a book that would answer Riddle's question. It was only after many minutes had passed that he slowed, realizing that such a frenzied search would neither be helpful to him nor anyone.

He took a deep breath and started looking through the section more thoroughly. He needed… all of them, really. He'd never been good at Potions and he needed to become a master overnight. It was best to start from scratch.

Harry inwardly groaned at the prospect of reading all the books, but the prospect of Riddle finding out soon pushed out that dread. He didn't have time to dread, he needed to learn! His finger was steady on a grade one theory potions book, ready to displace it from its position on the bookshelf, when suddenly he paused.

Who would believe that Harry Evans, the potions prodigy, needed a grade one theory book? One would only have to see Harry with the book or ask the librarian, and Harry's gig was up. His finger hovered over the spine as Harry hesitated.

But… but Harry needed that book. He stunk at theory, no matter what suggestions the Half-Blood Prince had made. And even Harry knew that things only snowballed if you left them. If he started reading the advanced potions books without first reading the basics, his chances of understanding the material would go from slim to zero. If he wanted to be the least bit knowledgeable, he needed to learn from scratch.

Harry closed his eyes, dread curling up in his stomach. He should have thought of all this before he went ahead and opened his big mouth about potions.

And now, and now he was stuck between confessing that he knew naught about potions, or risking borrowing the books and—

Hold up.

Borrowing the books.

A Cheshire grin spread across Harry's face. His right hand reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand. Sharp green eyes flicked left and right and, finding no one, the owner of the eyes raised a hand. He moved his wand in flowery motions, muttering an incantation under his breath. He had never thought this particular spell of Hermione's would be useful to him.

Spell done, he tapped the side of his bag with his wand, and the magic washed over it. He couldn't help but smile when it was done.

Hermione had for some reason taught him a spell that let him take out library books without setting off the alarm. Harry hadn't thought he would need to learn it, but she had insisted upon it. Now he couldn't be more glad that she did.

He would dump all the beginner potions books in his bag, and take them out of the library without anyone the wiser. He would check out the more advanced potions books the regulated way, in order to keep his status as a prodigy and to have a ready excuse if someone found him reading a potions book.

He allowed himself to preen for a moment at his idea and then got to work. He alternatively dumped books in his bag and piled books on the floor beside him, making the stack of things he was borrowing larger and larger.

He had just been taking out _Potions Theory Made Easy_ when—

"Doing something suspicious, are we?"

Harry jumped about the foot in the air, almost dropping the book as he spun around to face the newcomer.

It was Flavian, his face amused.

Harry calmed his speeding heart. He tried his best to look unconcerned, "I heard that Slytherins are always doing something suspicious. Just wanted to fit the stereotype, that's all."

"Ah," Flavian nodded, and then his eyes slid over to the book in Harry's hands. Harry forced himself not to tense. "_Potions Theory Made Easy_, huh? I would have thought that you of all people wouldn't need such a book."

Harry gave the spine a look of surprise before putting the book back on the shelf, "How embarrassing, I must have read the title wrong."

"Of course." Thankfully, Flavian seemed to have taken it for a fact. "Anyway Evans, I actually came to find you. We didn't see you at dinner, see, and we were getting worried."

"Really?" Harry glanced around, looking for a clock. He could see none from his position. He must have lost track of time in his frantic search for potions books.

"It's understandable," Flavian said smoothly, "considering where you were. You can't see the clock from here, can you? Well Evans, if you are hungry, you should go to the floor above the Great Hall. From there you will see a large painting of a pear. If you tickle it, it'll take you to the kitchens of Hogwarts and you could probably get some food there."

"Really?" Harry knew that of course, but nobody knew that Harry knew that. Now Flavian had given him a perfect excuse. Harry smiled, sincerely. "Thanks a lot. Even though we haven't… talked to each other much, you've really helped me."

At those words, Flavian's eyes sharpened. He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "Evans, about that. Just because… just because Rosier and Yaxley act friendly, doesn't mean that they are."

"Wh-what?" Harry was taken aback by the sudden change in topics. Weren't they just talking about the kitchen? "What do you mean?"

"Be careful," Flavian's eyes were dark. "Remember that nothing in Slytherin is done without ulterior motives."

Harry stiffened, finally realizing what this was all about. He had received plenty of warnings like this in the past, all based on his status as the Boy Who Lived. He did not take kindly to it. "What? You mean like you then? Why exactly are you warning me about this then, if you are a Slytherin?"

Flavian turned away, his shoulders shaking. Harry floundered for a minute, not knowing what was going on anymore, when suddenly he realized that Flavian was _laughing_. At him. Harry started to see red.

"Yes, it's true," Flavian finally said, turning back to look at Harry with a look of superior amusement in his eyes, "I do have a motive for telling you. But that does not mean that what I tell you is not true."

"I'll decide for myself what's true and what's not, thanks," Harry replied stiffly, bending down to pick up his book.

Flavian's amusement disappeared, leaving behind an ugly face full of frustration. "You. Are an idiot. Are you relying on _friendship_? You should have been Hufflepuff, not Slytherin. Make no mistake Evans, Rosier and Yaxley are not seeking you solely for your company."

"Then what _are_ they seeking me for?"

Flavian gritted his teeth, "You ask it so blatantly?"

"Yes," Harry said bluntly, "I reflect whom I speak to."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. It was such a Gryffindor thing to say and it would definitely mark him out as different. And yet he would say it all over again. Harry didn't take slack from anyone; he may obey the rules but he would never take any insults. Besides, he was sick and tired of all this dancing around. Trying to not lag behind Riddle had already taken up most of his brain power and he had none left over for dealing with Flavian.

Something flashed in Flavian's eyes. His voice calmed. "I see. It is a shame that it is like this. I would have felt better if you were at least intelligent. I will at least be assured then, that this cannot be easy for Rosier and Yaxley. One last thing before you go Evans; Rosier and Yaxley were never close, not before you came. You don't have to take my word on it, ask anyone."

With those parting words, Flavian turned his heel and stalked out of the section. He met up with a Slytherin girl who had just turned the corner, presumably having been hiding behind the bookshelf where Harry and Flavian had their argument.

"You were a bit heavy handed," the Slytherin girl murmured, her voice soft as the pair walked away. Harry only heard her because he had trained his ears to hear the smallest of sounds during the war.

"Perhaps," Flavian's words were fading, "But Rosier and Yaxley's actions were equally as transparent. Just not to the Transfer, apparently."

They left Harry standing there, potions books in one hand, school bag in the other, and as confused as hell.


	7. All Your Cunning

Harry didn't sleep well that night. He couldn't help but turn Flavian's words over and over in his mind. He couldn't make heads or tails of them. What did he mean Rosier and Yaxley never talked to each other before Harry showed up? Even if it were true, what did it mean? And although Harry knew that Rosier and Yaxley were both Slytherins, he had still thought that they were getting along… or was Flavian mistaken? Or perhaps Flavian was even trying to fool him for the redhead's own purposes, as Harry had boldly suggested.

When Harry awoke the next morning he was bleary-eyed and sore, but he could not fall back asleep.

It was still early when Harry awoke on Thursday, and none of the others had even gotten up yet. Well, with the exception of Riddle of course. Harry wondered detachedly about Riddle; so far, he'd never seen Riddle get into bed or get out of it, and if it weren't for Riddle's trunk being in a slightly different position every day, Harry would have had doubts about whether Riddle was even sleeping in the dorms at all. Then again, if he weren't sleeping in the dorms, where could he be?

With a shake of his head, Harry got out of bed and went about his daily routine, trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn't want to wake the others. Not quite yet.

When Harry entered the Great Hall, he noticed with some shock that Riddle was already seated at the Slytherin tables, eating alone. Other than Riddle there were maybe three other Slytherins, all of whom were younger.

Harry hesitated, wondering if he should, and then slid into a seat beside Riddle.

Riddle glanced at him. There was a flash of annoyance in Riddle's eyes, but it was gone in an instant. More than that, it was so subtle that if Harry had not spent all his life looking for such signs from the Dursleys, he would not have noticed it.

"Couldn't sleep?" Riddle asked idly, moving the pieces of scrambled egg around on his plate.

"Not really," Harry replied, some relief filling him as he blanked his mind of the previous day's events in favour of battling with Riddle. It was not that he did not want to think about Rosier and Yaxley—it was simply because he couldn't, because he had to focus all his attention on Riddle if he didn't want to be found out. The excuse sounded cheap even to his own mind. "I suppose home sickness is kicking in about now."

"Oh?" Riddle asked, quite concernedly and politely.

And it was then that Harry realized what a stupid move he had just made. Riddle at this point did not even know his family, and probably wanted one more than anything in the world. And here Harry was, using home sickness as the excuse! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The only saving grace was that Riddle couldn't possibly know that Harry knew about his home life.

"Yes," Harry said quickly, even as a pristine white plate magically appeared in front of him. He reached for some toast. "I miss my bed. Not that the Hogwarts bed is bad or anything, but the change in scenery is still something I need to get used to. I still wake up thinking that I'm in my old room, you know?"

That was a lame excuse, but some of it at least, was true. He did still wake up expecting to see red and gold hangings instead of the green and silver.

Riddle frowned. "Just your bedroom? What about your parents?"

Harry forced a careless shrug. "Don't really know them. They don't really pay attention to me."

"They arranged for you to be at Hogwarts," Riddle pointed out. "Your mother used up all her money for it."

"Ah, you remember that? Well, she wants me to get the best education, so I can um… make our family more well known."

"You are pureblood then?" Riddle inquired. There was nothing more than polite curiosity in his voice, and yet.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. And finally, quietly—"No, I am not. I'm half-blood actually, but I've been letting Rosier and Yaxley think I'm something else. I suspect you're in the same situation as me though, so… so I'll tell _you_."

There was a pause.

Harry's pinkie twitched, and he wondered if he had said something wrong. Should he not have brought up Riddle's blood status?

There was that glint again in Riddle's eyes. He picked up his chalice, rubbing it with his long, long fingers. Why had Harry never noticed his skeletal fingers? Riddle smiled at the pseudo-Slytherin, eyes half-lidded. "You are smarter, I think, than you let on. You seemed to have divined much already…"

Harry felt his heart quicken. What in the world did that mean? He had a feeling it wasn't just about the half-blood comment.

"By the way," Riddle continued conversationally, "they all know that I am a half-blood."

Avery came in before Harry could reply to that, and Riddle quickly excused himself. He had finished his breakfast sometime during the course of their conversation, though Harry didn't know when. Riddle left, leaving Harry a bundle of jitters.

Avery looked confused as he slid into the seat Riddle had previously occupied. He was staring after Riddle. "That's odd, he usually isn't here by the time I get here."

"Oh," Harry said as an automatic response, not really hearing Avery's words. His attention was on the boy who had just left the Great Hall. Riddle had given him no time to respond to the Slytherin heir's comment and had now left the ball on Harry's side of the field. No doubt that the next time Harry met with Riddle again, he would be expected to return it. Question was, how best to do it? Harry bit his lip.

Avery grunted and reached for some pancakes. "You going for a fly this weekend, Evans?"

Harry eventually sighed, letting go of his decision for the moment. He should think in the private realms of class, when nobody was observing him. "Probably. You up for a game?"

"Maybe," Avery replied, his eyes glittering. "You ain't half bad, unlike those pussies Flavian and Yaxley."

"Thanks, I guess," Harry replied dryly. It was in a way, very refreshing to talk to Avery. Harry didn't have to worry about double meanings with him. "So, what are you doing up so early today?"

Avery's eyes instantly turned wary. "I… I just felt like it."

Harry blinked, surprised at the answer. Just after Harry had complimented Avery for being blunt, Avery went and pulled a secret on him. He smiled wryly, "Okay."

He really didn't feel like digging for the big boy's secrets at the moment. It wasn't like it'd be relevant to his cause, anyway.

Harry finished the rest of his breakfast relatively quickly and, saying goodbye to Avery, Harry pulled a Hermione Granger and headed towards the library. Then he hesitated, wondering if Riddle would be there. He really didn't want to meet up with the boy again.

Harry shook his head and took out his wand. He cast the spell readily, splaying his hands wide open, palms facing upwards to allow his wand a good stand. "Point Me Tom Riddle."

The wand spun, once, twice, before stopping with the tip facing southwest and downwards. Harry pursed his lips; he was currently on the staircase to the third floor, and the library was located on the third and fourth floors. So wherever Riddle was, it wasn't the library of Hogwarts.

He nodded in satisfaction and pocketed his wand again. Harry spent the next two hours reading up on potions texts, relieved that he wasn't going to be disturbed this time. When it was ten, he headed down to Charms class where Yaxley was waiting.

"Where were you?" Yaxley demanded. "You pulled a Riddle on us. Wait, don't tell me you were talking with…"

"Why not tell you that?" Harry asked, truly curious.

Yaxley tensed, "No reason. I was just surprised, that's all. I had no idea you two were… friends."

There was something strained about that last word. Harry shook his head. "No, it was an accident. I just couldn't sleep, that's all."

"Oh," Yaxley paused. "You wouldn't happen to know what Avery was doing up, would you?"

"Nope. Sorry."

The rest of class passed without anything happening. Riddle seemed to have completely forgotten about their conversation at breakfast, because when he asked Harry to pass the protractor and Harry had jumped about a mile, Riddle had only looked amused. Harry, embarrassed, gave the tool to the other boy, but Riddle hadn't asked for Harry's answer.

During lunch it was the same. As was Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology. Harry contented himself with the thought that maybe Riddle didn't want an answer, and slowly started to let his mind forget it. Riddle had probably just said that for the shock factor; it wasn't like he really wanted Harry, a virtual stranger, to go pledging his allegiance the next day or anything.

The next day came and went without Riddle demanding anything of Harry. After dinner they retired to the common rooms. Riddle, Flavian, and surprisingly Avery, seemed to disappear, leaving only Rosier, Yaxley, and Harry of the Slytherin fifth years. The three settled in an area with five seats so that should someone wish to join them, they could.

In the relaxed atmosphere of their House common room, the three chatted for a long time before finally digging out their homework. In particular, the worksheets they had been assigned from DADA that day. The second weekend at Hogwarts was not as easy as the first one, especially since it was their OWLs year. Despite having done all of this once before, Harry still found the work excessive.

"You know," Rosier said suddenly, dragging Harry's mind out of his book. "Today is Friday."

"Very astute observation, Rosier," Yaxley said dryly, looking up from his own textbook.

Rosier didn't seem to notice Yaxley's sarcasm. Or rather, he managed to brush it off as he always did. "It is, isn't it? You know, Friday nights are supposed to be wild, but last Friday we didn't do anything. We should do something fun tonight."

"I opt out," Yaxley immediately said. "There is that Ancient Runes paper that I want to get started on. Evans, you?"

Harry was hesitant. He wasn't particularly thrilled at the prospect of writing an essay.

"No way!" Rosier proclaimed before Harry could say anything. "Evans here would much rather have fun with me, wouldn't you Evans?"

"Depends," Harry replied warily; he had come to know Rosier well enough in the past week to know not to immediately agree to the blue eyed boy's whims. "What exactly will we be doing?"

Rosier sighed dramatically. "Dunno. That's the bit I'm stuck on."

"Why not find that Atkin boy you're always on about?" Yaxley asked in a bored tone. "You haven't seen him this year yet, have you?"

Rosier brightened, "Oh! That's a good idea! Yaxley, there's hope for you after all."

Yaxley snorted and turned back to his book. "Whatever. Have fun… I guess."

"Oh," Rosier's grin was positively devious, "I will. You sure you don't want to join?"

"That type of thing is not my style," was Yaxley's reply, before he put the DADA book up in front of his face and effectively shut them out.

"Well then," Rosier said, getting up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He stuck his tongue out at the silver haired boy, "Let's go, Evans. We don't want to catch old man lethargy by staying here after all."

There was a choked noise from Yaxley's direction, but the silver haired boy didn't acknowledge it. Harry bit back a laugh, knowing that if he didn't, Yaxley'd make him regret it later. Harry got up and followed Rosier out the door. "So where are we going?"

There was a smile on Rosier's face that wasn't at all pleasant. "To see an old friend of mine."

They walked past some twists and turns, and Harry thought he saw Rosier muttering a Point Me spell once. That made sense, Harry supposed, if they were going to meet someone. Eventually they stopped at a door of an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor corridor. Rosier smiled and pressed his ear against the door.

Harry raised a brow. Rosier was eavesdropping! He knew better than to open his mouth and ask though, doing so would undoubtedly give them away.

"Ah," Rosier said softly with that little devious smile of his, moving his head away from the door. "It looks like he's alone. Excellent. Alohomora."

There was the click of a door being unlocked, and Rosier pushed the door open. Between the frame of the doorway and Rosier's body, Harry could make out a blond boy standing not too far away, his back facing them. He had his wand in the air, and familiar white birds were dancing around him.

Rosier grinned and turned to Harry with a finger on his lips, signaling for quiet. Harry nodded silently, and Rosier stepped inside the classroom with barely a sound. Whatever sound he did make was covered by the squawking of the birds. Harry hurried in as well, and the door swung shut behind them. This time, there was a sound.

The boy with the birds froze.

Rosier laughed and put up a silencing charm. Slowly, ever so slowly, the blond boy turned around, his birds disappearing in poofs of pink smoke. He had a blue tie on and the crest of Ravenclaw on his chest, and the spell he had been practicing gave him away as a fifth year. His head was bowed, and his blond bangs were hiding his eyes.

"Pink, Aitken?" Rosier teased, but there was a sneering edge in there that he had never used with Harry or Yaxley. "My, really showing off how girly you are, aren't you?"

It was then that the boy looked up. Harry noticed, startlingly, that the boy had blue eyes, blue like Rosier's. Unlike Rosier's eyes however, there wasn't a spot of confidence in them, only… fear?

Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

"I thought you had forgotten about me," Aitken said dully.

"Why Aitken, I could never forget about you," Rosier mocked. "You are such a disgrace after all. A little mudblood who's under the delusion that he can actually learn magic. It's rather pathetic, isn't it Evans?"

Rosier was his own brand of bully, Harry was realizing with shock. Despite his joking exterior and seemingly amiable personality, Rosier _liked_ to have others under his power, for no other reason than the fact that they were different. Like Dudley, like Draco, like James Potter.

"Yes," Harry replied bleakly, not even really knowing what he was saying anymore. "It is really pathetic."

He wasn't referring to the Ravenclaw.

Rosier laughed, twirling his wand in his hand. Then it suddenly snapped towards the blond boy, "_Extremis_!"

A sickly shot of purple exploded from the wand, hitting the boy dead center on his chest. Aitken let out a scream, his back arching as his face twisted in agony. Harry's head jerked in surprise, not having expected that. Rosier flicked his wrist upwards, lifting the spell. Aitken pitched forward, falling to a puddle of robes on the ground, shaking.

Rosier licked his lips, "Well, that curse wasn't nearly as effective as the book described. What do you think, Aitken?"

Aitken just let out a whimper.

Harry swallowed the bile that was rising up in his throat, but he couldn't quite keep the horror off his face. _Curses_. This wasn't just regular bullying which, although bad, Harry could have maybe dealt with. This was _torture_.

"Hm, alright, let's try another one. _Selisc_—"

Before Rosier could complete the word, Harry's hand had shot out, grabbing Rosier's arm. Rosier stopped mid-sentence. Cocking his head sideways, Rosier turned back to look at Harry, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Harry swallowed, trying his best not to cower away from that stare. He could have ruined everything, but it was more of an automatic response really, to stop someone from cursing another. He removed his hand from Rosier's arm. "Rosier… I'm not so sure this is such a wise idea. You're using _curses_. They're not just jinxes which the school matron can brush off as boyhood fighting. Someone will notice. Or worse, if Aitken complains…"

A light of understanding came in Rosier's eyes. He nodded, lowering his wand. Harry just about sighed in relief, but then Rosier spoke again. His voice was light, reassuring-like, "Don't worry Evans, Aitken never complains. I've been using curses since third year. You honestly don't think I'm that stupid do you? I promise we won't get caught."

"Yes but," he frantically tried to think of a way out of this, to prevent this from happening. "What if you're wrong just this once? Once is enough. I _just_ got into Hogwarts Rosier, I really don't feel like jeopardizing my position just yet."

Rosier pouted, crossing his arms. "Aw, come on Evans, it'll be fun. Okay, I'll admit that it might be just a little stupid for you to do something like this so early in the school year, but hey, I'll take all the blame! If they find us, you can say you were trying to stop me!"

"I don't know…"

Rosier's grin slid off his face. Now he was frowning. His eyelids were lowered, long eyelashes hiding the light of his eyes, giving him a dangerous look. "Evans? You don't approve?"

Harry laughed nervously, "Of getting caught? Who would?"

"Not only that," Rosier said softly, that disturbing gleam still present in his eyes. "One can't help but wonder. Well, some people, you know, are scared of _hurting_ mudbloods, as if they're actually human or something. But of course you aren't one of those. So, I wonder what you are afraid of?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Rosier was smiling at him brightly, but this time Harry couldn't be sure if it was sincere. The green eyed boy didn't dare allow his face to register any emotion. He tried to emulate Lucius Malfoy. "Don't be ridiculous, Rosier. I hope you are not implying that I would actually feel sympathy for mudbloods. I find torture distasteful, is all, but if you're willing to take all the blame, then I suppose who am I to deny free sport?"

Aitken let out a choked sound.

Rosier's face instantly turned disdainful. He levelled his wand, shooting a mild pain curse at the blond heap on the floor. Aitken let out a loud whimper.

"You shouldn't interrupt your betters," Rosier said mildly, "I thought I taught you that the last time I brought Flavian. Do you need to learn that lesson again, I wonder? _Labrosas_."

Boils erupted from Aitken's skin, and then promptly burst open, soiling the boy's robes with globs of puss and blood. Aitken screamed again.

Rosier closed his eyes, tilting his head back with a look of ecstasy on his face. "Ah, this is the true concerto."

The torture went on.

And Harry could do nothing to stop it.

It all felt like a dream really, this whole coming back in time thing and failing to act because he had _already made his choice_. He could stop Rosier now and lose all semblance of trust from the Slytherins. If other tortures like this were going on, Harry would never find out about them; and in the end, Voldemort was a greater threat than a bored schoolboy.

Aitken wouldn't die. The only recorded death in Hogwarts in this time period had been Mrytle, and after graduation Aitken would be free of Rosier.

He knew all that.

It was hard to stop himself from rushing over to Rosier and clogging him on the head, knocking the sadist unconscious and pleading forgiveness from the boy with the birds. It was hard to keep the tears from leaking from his eyes.

It was hard, but he managed. Only his palms were bleeding from how hard his nails were digging into them.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. Rosier didn't even glance over at him, so consumed was he in his pleasure.

At the end of who knows how long, Rosier had finally decided that he had enough. Or was bored enough. Or his 'toy' wasn't properly responding anymore. Harry quite frankly didn't care to find out. Surprisingly, Rosier turned out to be very adept at healing spells, and by the end of it, Aitken didn't look any different from how he had before Rosier and Harry had stepped in. Outwardly, at least. Harry wasn't sure how inwardly damaged the blond was from all that.

When they left the room, exactly as they had found it, the sadistic glee that Rosier had displayed seemed to disappear. He was back to the cheery, jokey guy he had been before. It was as if nothing had happened. Harry could only watch in amazement as the transformation took hold, taking with it the sadistic future Death Eater and leaving a schoolboy behind.

There was something seriously wrong with Rosier, and Harry was only realizing that now.

Harry had seen plenty of insane figures in his lifetime, but never had he thought he would be encountering another one in this era outside of Riddle. Rosier was, in his own way, just as dangerous as Riddle, despite the fact that he saw Harry as a friend. And Harry couldn't even be sure of the friendship thing, if he took Flavian's words into account. Rosier was only fifteen years old, and he dished pain out so easily it was frightening. Had he no moral sense? Harry wished he hadn't discovered this about a boy whom he was sleeping in the same room as.

He should have taken Yaxley up on the essay.

And that thought was so ridiculous it actually sent Harry doubling over with hysterical laughter.

Rosier glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a grin on his face, "It really _was_ funny, wasn't it? You want to try something next time, Evans? Sorry, I should have offered, but it completely slipped my mind. Haven't had someone with me for that in a long time you see, so I didn't even think of it. Unforgivable really."

"Do—don't worry about it," Harry choked out, still not having much success keeping back his laughter, "I—I'm not big into the torture thing. I have to say I'm with Yaxley on this one. You're an odd one, Rosier."

Rosier frowned, pouting. "Aw, fine. I thought you might have said that. It's a real shame though. _Nobody_ understands how I feel."

"I'm sure," Harry said, amused. He had a feeling if he wasn't amused, he'd curse the brains out of the boy. So he focused on being amused. He told his heart and moral sense to shut up, and closed himself to their warnings. If he wanted to be able to handle Riddle, where better to start than the newly revealed sadist Rosier?

When they got back to the common rooms it was past nine. Riddle was splayed across a long couch, one leg dangling off the edge and his elbow resting on the armrest. His cheek was pressed up against the palm of one hand, the other holding up a book for him to read. He looked decisively casual in a place that was meant to be anything but.

Yaxley and Flavian were sitting together on the couch across from the dark haired boy, both on opposite ends. The two were, as promised, doing their Ancient Runes homework, if the scratched out papers on the table before them were any indication.

Yaxley glanced up when Rosier and Harry entered. "Oh, you're back? Well, how was it?"

Rosier licked his lips, that unholy light entering his eyes again. "Excellent. Thanks Yaxley, your suggestion really was great."

"You went to find that Aitken boy again?" Flavian asked dryly, looking up from his book. The moment he did, his eyes widened, shock flickering through them for an instant before they became masked again. "Evans went with you?"

"He did," Rosier agreed, his voice as airy as the wind.

Flavian suddenly stood up. His voice was tight, "I am going to turn in. I'm afraid I have a bit of a headache."

A slow, almost predatory smile spread across Rosier's face. The same smile he had shown Alexander Aitken in the dark room. "Ah? My, I hope that it isn't because of me."

But Flavian had already gone. He deserted the common rooms, leaving everything exactly as it had been before Harry had come in, sans a certain redhead and plus two extra people. Yaxley cocked a brow at the abrupt exit, then, with a shake of his head, went back to the Ancient Runes homework. The other Slytherins who might or might not have been watching their exchange quickly got back to what they were doing.

Rosier let out a low chuckle. "Oh dear, I think it _is_ because of me."

Riddle did not once look up from his book, but Harry noticed that a small, amused smile had spread across his face.


End file.
